A Phantom's Angel
by DoctorPhantom
Summary: The Opera Populaire is famous for its history of the so-called "opera ghost" lurking beneath the cellars. But what happens when the Phantom becomes captivated by a new ballet girl named Christine Daae...unaware that a ghost from the past has returned…. Sequel to A Phantom's Sister. (Rated T for paranoia reasons and possible trigger warnings) I DO NOT OWN PHANTOM OF THE OPERA!
1. Chapter 1

**DoctorPhantom: And so I present the sequel story to A Phantom's Sister. If you wish to go back and read the prequel before this one or after is up to you, just don't yell at me if there is any confusion due to references to prequel.**

 **As always: everything belongs to the people who created Phantom of the Opera (mostly Leroux because this is all book-based) and enjoy reading :)**

* * *

She made her way through the crowd, going over toward him.

"Adellade!" he greeted, kissing the back of her hand. "It is good to see you here!"

"Thank you, Monsieur Garnier."

"How many times have I asked you to call me Charles?" he pointed out, craning his neck to see into the crowd. "Is he here perchance?"

"No." She sighed and smiled. "He did send me, though to thank you for allowing him to consult on your design."

"He did?" he raised an eyebrow at her.

" _I_ might've come to thank you," she corrected. "You at least deserve that much."

"Your brother is a strange one. First, he approaches me in a bar, makes me an offer, shows me his designs, then refuses to let me take the credit for any of his changes! Not a single bit of appreciation! They'll think I designed the entire thing!"

"You did."

"I might've built the structure, but they'll be marveling at his designs. Ah, but enough of that! How are you?"

"As well as I can be."

"And your schooling?"

"I'd prefer Erik's lessons. Instead I find myself either attempting to play or pricking my finger with a needle most nights."

"Have you had a chance to see the interior?"

"No." She shook her head. "He was supposed to show me himself, only when I asked him this morning, he told me to go on without him…."

"Then allow me to show you myself. I'm sure he won't mind you at least seeing the entryway." He led her by the arm up the stairs and through the doors.

She gasped, seeing the statues, the paintings, everything. "It's wonderful!"

"I know. Seeing it on paper, I didn't believe it was possible, yet here it is." He led her past the stairs and through a pair of doors. "This, I believe, was his favorite. Wouldn't let me touch a single thing until he was certain of every minute detail. He kept checking it over and over again. I'm afraid it happened to steal many of his nights from you."

"I feel I can forgive him for that." She walked ahead a bit, seeing the seats, the balconies, the columns, the stage itself…. She turned, seeing it all, seeing the grand chandelier that hung in just the right position so that it would be able to shine, yet not distract from the stage. She ran her hand along the column, feeling the artwork. Everything had Erik's signature written all over it….

"There is a matter to see to, of course," he called out, handing her an envelope. "A masquerade is to be held this evening in celebration of the opera house's completion. I suspect that you and your brother would attend. I'll be expecting it."

"I'll do my best to convince him."

* * *

She walked into their small apartment, seeing that several of Erik's things were missing-or stored away someplace. She frowned, searching for him.

"Erik? Erik?"

A note lay on the bed and she picked it up, recognizing his handwriting.

 _I find myself preoccupied this afternoon. I will most certainly return by tonight. Oh, and do try your best to look nice, as you are to be attending a masquerade. I took the liberty of selecting you a dress. The box is underneath the bed._

She knelt down, pulling it out. She opened the lid and stared at the dress within, seeing the lace and ruffles. A silver mask sat within. She took it and held it in her hands, trying it on in front of the mirror.

* * *

A carriage drove up in front of the apartment and she smoothed her skirts out, seeing a man exit and knock on the door. She opened it, seeing a dark cloak with the hat pulled down over the white mask concealing his face.

"Whenever you're ready, mademoiselle."

She nodded and allowed him to help her into the carriage, climbing in after her.

"This is rather nice, Erik," she murmured, smoothing out the skirts.

"The color does suit you."

"You don't have to wear the hat, you know. It _is_ a masquerade. No one will notice."

"Later."

They arrived and he helped her out, escorting her up the stairs. He handed his hat and cloak to someone, revealing a nice suit underneath-though still a dark color in contrast to his white mask. She glanced at him, having expected him to wear a bit more color given that he chose her something red to wear.

"Monsieur!" Charles Garnier greeted. "You came!"

"I suppose one party won't ensure my death," he sighed.

"He's secretly happy to be here," she whispered.

"All of the patrons are impressed with the opera house," he pointed out. "And I can't bargain with you on any of the credit?"

"You know my terms, Garnier."

"Of course, of course." He sighed and held out his hand. "Though I do wish to have the pleasure of working with you once again someday. Your gifts should not go unwasted."

She nudged him and Erik reluctantly took the man's hand. "Perhaps."

He escorted her away and she sighed. "It is lovely, Erik. Every bit of it."

"I am glad to hear your enjoyment. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some business to attend to."

She grabbed his arm before he could leave. "One dance? Please, Erik?"

"Enjoy yourself first." He kissed her forehead before vanishing into the crowd.

* * *

"Madame Giry!" he called out, approaching her. "And this must be your daughter you spoke so fondly of."

"Yes. This my little Meg."

"Will we be seeing her in the ballet soon?"

"Mother!" she hissed.

"She has been dancing for several years now. I'm sure she'll enjoy herself on such a wonderful stage."

"Indeed." He nodded to her. "Might I have a word with your mother, mademoiselle?"

Meg nodded and walked off to dance with another man.

"I was wondering if you had any thoughts as to the matter I questioned you about the other day?"

"And how do you know that she will take ballet? As you've said yourself: Adellade is not the most forthcoming of dancers."

"No." He sighed. "However, I do believe with the correct guidance, she may learn to handle herself. I-do only ask this if you are willing to. She has had a-difficult time, and from what I've seen with your instruction…."

"You must care about your sister quite a lot, monsieur."

"Very much so."

"If she will come to me, then I will do my best to instruct her. I cannot promise you that she will have a place in our ballets, monsieur, but I can promise you that she will have a place with myself and my daughter if she ever requires one."

"Thank you, madame."

* * *

She applauded the orchestra along with everyone else, sighing as she did so. The night was almost over, yet Erik hadn't given her the dance he promised.

"Might I have the honor of the last dance with you?"

"No." she shook her head.

A hand grabbed hers and she turned, eyes narrowed at him as he smiled.

"I was promised one dance, and you had best be held to your promises, mademoiselle."

The music began and they started dancing.

"Where have you been all this time?"

"Finishing a few things." He looked at her. "Though you best ought to save your conversational skills for later. Your dancing on the other hand requires much work."

"Since when have you gained the ability to critique me on how well I can waltz?"

"Oh, I have been able to do that for a very long time," he whispered, leading her through the steps. "This isn't so difficult, you know."

"You are not the one in a dress, monsieur." She rolled her eyes. "And since when have you been able to waltz?"

"The early days in the courts of Persia did have some dances. Then they found an assassin and _less tasteful entertainment_." His grip on her waist tightened as she almost tripped.

"I'm trying!"

He chuckled.

"It would help if you didn't hold me so tightly!" she argued.

"If I did, then one of the men here might steal you away from me."

"Are you supposed to be my lover now?"

"No."

"Good." She smiled. "I like it better when you're my brother."

"You always have." He sighed and bowed as the dance ended. "Come. It is time we were home."

He led her through the crowd and she frowned. "Isn't home that way? Erik? Erik?"

He opened the door of the theatre and she sighed, putting her hands on her hips. "I've seen this, already! I thought you said we were going home!"

He walked to the stage and helped her up, moving her by the shoulders so she was standing at the center. "Every detail was worked out," he whispered, pointing. "The seats, the shape of it, the chandelier. Even the stage itself. Now, close your eyes."

"Erik…."

"Close them," he whispered.

She sighed and did as he asked. She felt his hands leave her shoulders.

"Now open."

She did and turned to face him, only finding that there was no one there.

"Erik?"

"Careful, mademoiselle. You wouldn't wish to hurt yourself, would you?"

She frowned, seeing the trapdoor. "Erik?"

"Will a creature as lovely as you care to visit a demon?"

She knelt down and sighed, lowering herself, pulling the door closed behind her, encasing herself in darkness.

"Erik? Erik, where are you?" She felt her way forward, feeling the narrow walls. "I do hate when you vanish like this, you know," she sighed.

She kept walking, feeling the ground tilting a bit, the stones growing colder…. Eventually, the smooth stones turned into rough, uneven ones beneath her feet. She blinked, eyes adjusting, hearing the sound of water nearby…. There was a boat at the edge of a shore, where he was casually sitting, waiting for her.

"Where are we?" she demanded.

He smirked and held out his hand, helping her inside. He started row them across and she sighed, eyeing the water. She started to hear something, coming from the water itself…. Some type of song playing deep below the surface...calling her….

"Careful, now," he interrupted, chasing the song away. "Less you wish to fall prey to Erik's siren."

"I thought sirens were supposed to be women who lured the men to their shores?" she pointed out.

"Indeed." He smirked. "Yet you forget that they also lure them to their deaths."

"I never did like those stories," she muttered. "I prefer yours."

He sighed. "What else is there to tell?"

"You never did finish it, you know. The one of the demon."

"Ah yes. He managed to build her a palace one day-a palace they could hide away in together without fear of having her taken away from him." He got out and pulled the boat up to the other shore, helping her out. "And he hid her away deep beneath the earth," he continued. "Hidden away in a location only he knew of." A door swung open from the rock and he led her inside with a bow. "Welcome home, mademoiselle. I believe you'll find everything to your liking."

She walked in and eyed the furnishings, seeing it, seeing the way it looked more like a set of rooms than a hidden underground home. "Did you-build all of this?"

"It was simple." He sighed. "Oh, the things I hid at the Shah's palace…. I believe you'll find this to be my own version-all for Erik's enjoyment. You will find that the other tunnels do have traps laid out amongst the ways, so do only use the stage entrance."

"Why would I require an entrance?"

He tilted her chin up and kissed her on the forehead. "Because as much as Erik regrets it, you are not meant to be hidden away forever, Adellade. I have arranged for you to be given ballet instruction under Madame Antoinette Giry. I believe you'll find her daughter an adequate companion. You needn't worry-I have taken all precautions to ensure your safety. And with this: Erik will be able to watch his Adellade without causing her harm."

"Erik…." She stood on her toes to remove his mask and her own. "You haven't done me any harm."

"But he has." He gently took her hand in his, fingers tracing the scars on her arm.

"If you're referring to the Shah, then that was him, not you. _He_ is the one who did this to me. _You_ are the one who save me from him."


	2. Chapter 2

She turned on her feet, going through the routine under Madame Giry's watchful eye. She bit her lip and sighed, keeping through the routine, managing to finish it without tripping.

"I think mother might actually say that you've improved!" Meg whispered, joining her.

"I don't know which is worse: the opera ghost or Madame Giry!"

"My mother. I could face a ghost, but to see her when she's angry?"

They smiled and laughed, joining the other ballet girls as Giry banged her staff on the stage for attention. She placed her hand on a young girl's shoulder. "This is Christine Daae. A new dancer who will be joining us for the routine. Mademoiselle Daae: this is my own daughter Meg Giry." Meg gave a nod and smiled. "As well as our principal ballet girl: Adellade Matthews."

 _"There is also the matter of your name," Erik muttered as she prepared to join what would be the first of many ballet teachings._

 _"My name?"_

 _"I might've removed certain...details."_

 _"Such as?"_

 _"Nothing too drastic. Only that your name is Adellade Matthews. Your mother used to run an inn until her death. Due to having no parents-father dying when you were a young age-you and your brother travelled to Paris. Best not to mention the gypsies or Persia."_

 _"But why change my name?"_

 _"The house isn't too far from the edge of the city. There is a chance that someone might recognize the name Destler, and as far as I can investigate: Erik Destler perished in infancy and Adellade Destler met with her death at the age of seven. Better to die than live in shame."_

 _"Oh." She sighed and frowned._

 _"You needn't concern yourself." He stood and kissed her head. "As always: Erik will be able to watch and see to it that you are safe."_

"Matthews?" Christine asked, walking over toward her.

"My mother's name," she explained. "What of yours? Daae doesn't sound French."

"My father, Charles Daae, was from Sweden. Then he met my mother here. When she died, father raised me on his own. We would travel around, with him playing his violin throughout the towns. And during the nights he would tell me all sorts of stories!"

"Your father was _the_ Charles Daae? The famous violinist?" Meg asked.

"Now that you mention it: I do recall seeing some pieces with his name on them…." Adellade shrugged. "Perhaps I could ask my brother later."

"What does he do?"

"Many things." She shrugged. "Since our mother died, he's been looking after me-doing what he can to help. We've always been close since father died when we were still children. He even gave me this locket so that I could remember him. I never take it off in case I forget him." She touched the silver locket hanging around her throat. "He used to play the violin in mother's inn. Oh, it was wonderful!"

"You should tell him to play here at the opera house in the orchestra!" Christine suggested.

"I've tried that." Meg shook her head. "Adellade says that her brother prefers to be alone."

"And he's terrified of the opera ghost! Or at least, what I tell him of the opera ghost."

"Opera ghost?" Christine asked.

"A strange phantom haunts the opera," Meg explained. "He threatens the managers, critiques the operas, and even steals a few things from the dormitories! Why, Joseph Buquet-the stage manager-he was saying just the other day that he saw the opera ghost's cape."

"Though you needn't worry about that," Adellade reassured. "The worse part of the opera is Carlotta Guidicelli! She's our leading sopranist, and such a diva! Everyone caters to her! Monsieur Reyer, Ubaldo Piangi. Everyone!"

"Oh. She sounds dreadful!"

"Don't worry. Mother will probably place you in the back, as you've just only joined today. Adellade is the one up front, and Carlotta loves to nag her, doesn't she?"

" 'Adellade! Why've you gotta be standin' right 'ere! I'mma supposed to stand 'ere! Not you' " she imitated, much to Meg and Christine's delight.

"And this is where you will be sleeping," Meg announced, opening a door. "It's small, but it's doable, right, Adellade?"

She nodded. "Not so terrible once you're used to it. Once had to sleep here for a few weeks because something had gone wrong with the pipes and Erik had no idea how to fix it. Thankfully the dormitories had an open bed."

"You'll be fine, Christine!" Meg took her hands and smiled. "Adellade can also help you, right?"

"Of course."

She bid Christine goodnight and also parted ways with Meg and Madame Giry. Adellade sighed and made her way to the stage, opening up Erik's trapdoor to lower herself into the dark tunnel.

Opera ghost indeed! She shook her head and smiled to herself. Though Erik could be frightening at times, he was never quite capable of being a ghost…. It had only taken part of a shadow, a misplaced shoe, and the ballet girls were suddenly discussing the possibility of a ghost. Naturally, he had gone with it-played along until the "opera ghost" was taken as truth.

She came to the edge of the lake, seeing him sitting there in the boat with the oar across his lap.

"Am I honestly less terrifying that Carlotta or Antoinette Giry?" he asked.

"Have you seen the routines she yells at me for getting wrong?" she argued, climbing in.

He chuckled as he rowed them across. "She is only doing her best."

They got to the other shore and he helped her out, opening up the door for her to enter. She went to her room to change into a nightgown, throwing a robe on top. She frowned, hearing violin music playing...at this time of day? She pushed the door open, seeing him play by the fireplace.

"You're playing. At this time? Not composing your music?"

"Charles Daae's piece," he explained. "One of the few I have encountered. The composer himself simply wrote the notes Daae played. Hardly does the man proper justice."

"Only you would know." She sighed, sitting on the couch.

"Something on your mind? The new ballet dancer?"

"Christine? No. She looks as if she'll be able to handle the routines."

"Then what concerns you?"

"Do you-do you even remember what she looked like? Our mother?"

"And why would you ask such a thing?"

"Christine…. She was talking about her father-and…. I try to remember-but I can't."

"You were only seven at the time we left." He lowered the violin. "And my memories of her are as little as possible. Being locked away in an attic with rare visitations does not make for an easy memory. Though the ones I care to recall all seem to be the days you would visit me. Sneaking to the attic when she wasn't looking…."

"Half the time, I thought I had dreamed you up."

"I am very glad that was not the truth. Otherwise you would be living beneath an opera house, talking with a man you had conjured up! Some might dare to call you absolutely mad."

"But if I were, would I know that I am?"

"If anything: it would be more probable that _I_ dreamed you up. Something to make a lonely childhood less lonely."

She smiled and walked over to wrap her arms around him. "I think you are definitely real, Erik. Would I be able to hug a man I had dreamed up?"

"You are able to hug the opera ghost, who does not exist," he pointed out.

"I'd still prefer that Erik exists to the opera ghost any day."

"Then I shall do my best to keep it that way." He gently kissed the top of her head.

* * *

He glanced up from his composition, seeing her fast asleep on the sofa. Erik sighed and went over to pick her up, carrying her to her room. He gently laid her down and smiled to himself as she stretched and rolled over.

If he had dreamed her up, he certainly didn't want to wake. He would rather spend his days with her than realize that she was never there-or worse to find that she never existed. He supposed he could live with the idea that she had grown up away from him, unknowing of who he was. At least he would have a chance to see the real her….

He paused. A soft sound making its way to his ears. Erik stood, curiosity drawing him away. He made his way up to the opera house and searched the tunnels, hunting for the source. He finally found it in a dormitory, seeing the new ballet girl-what was her name? Christine?- humming a song as she quietly lit a candle.

"Well, I'm here, papa," she murmured, speaking to the portrait before her. "I've joined the ballet. And I've made two friends already! Meg and Adellade seem nice, and I'm certain we'll get along…. Adellade is the principal dancer here. Do you suppose there's an angel who taught her to dance? Oh, I am still waiting for you to send the Angel of Music like you promised. I don't mean to be rude, but...you did promise and…. I only miss you so much. That's all. So much…."

 _Angel of Music?_ Erik thought to himself. He could recall reading something of an "Angel of Music" in one of the books in the attic. Supposedly it was a being who came to infants in the crib and sang to them-taught them music…. Children who would grow into prodigies. It was an old tale, of course, yet he could still recall it as being one of Adellade's favorites for reasons he could never quite understand.

So, her father had promised to send her this Angel of Music? He could see why the man would claim such a thing. She did have quite the voice-if very untrained. Perhaps she could one day sing on the stage should she find a tutor. But who would ever dare to tutor a ballet girl-and an orphaned one at that? All the tutors in Paris cared about were the students whose parents could afford the cost.

Still…. It would be quite the shame to see such a voice remain in the dark forever….

An idea began to form in his mind, and before he could argue against it, he had decided to tutor her himself. He had been Adellade's tutor in a number of subjects-though with her never fully showing an interest or desire to learn much of any music-perhaps he could tutor Christine's voice as well.

He sighed and closed his eyes, resting his head against the wall.

"Christine…. Hear me, for I am your Angel of Music…."


	3. Chapter 3

Adellade sighed, going through the dance, trying to get the turns right, trying to perfect her solo. Dancing around the diva that was Carlotta Guidicelli didn't help much either, but she still had to keep going.

"I almost had it!" she hissed, joining Meg and Christine at the side of the stage.

"I thought you did really well," Meg encouraged. "Why are you so worried?"

"Between your mother's comments and the opera ghost's…." Her voice trailed off, seeing two people following behind Monsieur LeFevre-the current manager of the opera house. Meg and Christine turned to see where she was watching.

"Are they supposed to be the new patrons?" Christine asked.

"No. Patrons don't look like that. And they certainly don't talk to the manager so much!" Meg pointed out. "All the patrons are always too busy staring at the designs and such."

"I wonder who they are then," Adellade murmured.

"Mademoiselle!" Madame Giry called out, beckoning for her to come join her.

"Yes?"

"If we could just run through this one part," she murmured. "Starting here…. Yes, right there…. Focus on your form!"

She nodded and started dancing once more.

"Managers," Erik's voice whispered in her ear.

She stumbled a bit and caught herself, turning into the next step, hoping that Madame Giry hadn't noticed.

"They're the new managers," he continued. "Those rumors about his retirement were true. Watch yourself here-you do have a tendency to mis-step."

She sighed and focused, going through the turn. She finished and gave a bow, being startled by the sudden applause from the three men.

"You have improved, my dear," Madame Giry commented with a nod. "They have been impressed."

"If I could have your attention please," LeFevre called out, climbing onto the stage. "Attention! I know that this may come as a shock, but given the rumors concerning my retirement: I can tell you that they were all true! And now, I am able to introduce you to the new managers! Monsieurs Gilles Andre and Richard Firmin!"

Everyone gave a small round of applause.

"Monsieurs: this is our leading ballet girl: Mademoiselle Adellade Matthews."

She gave a small curtsy.

"An astounding performance you just gave," Firmin commented.

"Our ballet instructor and box keeper Madame Antoinette Giry has ensured that our girls are kept in their finest form. And of course: our prima donna: Signora Carlotta Guidicelli, and our principal tenor: Signor Ubaldo Piangi…."

"You did wonderful, Adellade!" Christine commented. "Absolutely wonderful!"

"You think so?"

"It was quite the sight to behold," Erik pointed out. "A captivating beauty on the stage."

"Of course I'll be willing to give my managers a performance!" Carlotta called out.

She opened her mouth to sing. However, one of the set pieces came crashing down, interrupting her and sending everyone into a small panic. Adellade turned, feeling something being pressed into her hand. She looked at the parchment and opened it, quickly scanning over the contents. Madame Giry walked over and she handed it to her.

"What is the meaning of this, Buquet?" LeFevre demanded.

"I wasn't at my post!" Buquet shouted from above. "No one was here! It must've been that ghost! The opera ghost himself!"

"Opera ghost?" Andre laughed. "What sort of joke is this?"

"I can assure you that it is no joke, monsieurs," Madame Giry called out, approaching them. "A letter arrived for you from the opera ghost. As you can see: he merely wishes to welcome you to his opera house, instructs you to continue to leave box five empty for his use, and reminds you that his salary of twenty thousand francs is soon to be due."

"Twenty thousand?" Firmin stammered. "He demands that he be paid twenty thousand?"

"Signora, this is all just a simple joke!" Andre pointed out, helping her to her feet.

"A joke?" she demanded. "Of course it is a joke! A joke that has been going on ever since this building first opened! And did you do anything? No! And what are you two to do about it now? Laugh?! Well, until you do something, I can guarantee you that you will not have me as your prima donna until this all stops!" She stormed off with Piangi following her.

"Well, I don't think there's anything more to do here," LeFevre muttered. "If you need me, well...try not to need me. Good luck." He sighed and left.

"Well, no matter!" Firmin called out. "Who is the understudy?"

"There is no understudy for Carlotta!" Reyer called out.

"Christine Daae could sing it, monsieurs," Madame Giry offered up. "She has been taught by an excellent tutor."

"Well, it couldn't hurt to try," Andre groaned. "Very well! Mademoiselle!"

"Go on!" Meg hissed, giving her a shove forward.

Reyer started to play as Christine began to sing. She was hesitant at first, but slowly grew into a stunning voice that captivated everyone who was watching. Adellade eyed her friend. Christine's voice _was_ well trained, yet there was something behind it. The way her voice was perfect for the music, the way she never went too far above or below her range, the way she flowed through the notes as if the aria had been written specifically for her….

* * *

Adellade sat in the lair, watching the fire. They had chosen Christine to replace Carlotta, naturally. She should be happy for her friend, yet…. That voice…. Even now she couldn't get Christine's singing out of her head….

"If you wish for me to put the fire out, you can simply request it," Erik spoke up, walking over toward her.

"Hm?"

"Something on your mind?" He asked, sitting down in his chair. "You've hardly touched your drink. Such a waste. You did make quite an excellent tea tonight."

"Did you hear her? Christine? When she sang for the new managers today?"

"I am the opera ghost! I hear everything that goes on inside my opera house!"

"Erik…."

"Yes. I heard. Her voice is very good-despite the fact that she has found a tutor…. As a ballet girl, she will have work ahead of her however if she wishes to continue as a sopranist, especially considering Carlotta's fame, mind you…." She stood and walked over, sitting on his lap to rest her head against his chest. "What are you doing?"

"Sing?"

"You are not a child, you know," he murmured, gently brushing her hair away from her face as he softly started to hum.

"It's funny," she murmured, her eyes closing as she sighed. "Christine's voice sounds like yours…."

"I highly doubt it, my dear mademoiselle. I can assure you that I cannot sing as high as she can."

"I like your singing…. It's nice…."

"And you are almost asleep. Shouldn't you be in bed?"

"Erik doesn't sing when I'm in bed."

"All you must do is ask, and Erik will do whatever it is you wish." He stood with her in his arms as he carried her to bed, resigned to the fact that she wasn't going to go on her own. "However difficult it may seem, if you ask, Erik shall hear and be your loyal servant."

"I thought you were my brother."

"I am." He smiled.

"I don't want a servant. I want my brother."

He gently laid her down on the bed and sighed. "Sleep now, Adellade."

* * *

Erik smiled to himself, watching as she slept, lingering in the doorway for a few moments. He couldn't help but enjoy knowing that she was able to sleep safely now without the fear of death haunting her dreams….

 _Curse the Shah and all of Persia,_ he thought to himself as he left. _Daring to hurt Erik's Adellade…. They can hurt her no more here. Here she is safe. Erik will protect her. Erik will keep her safe._

He paused as he stared at the sheets of music spread out around the organ. He had found the music for the opera-had worked to tutor Christine on her part…. She was to be the new sopranist now. His fingers brushed against the delicate pages as he sat.

 _She knows about Christine._ He softly chuckled to himself. _My dear little Adellade knows about Christine…. No matter. She is a ballet girl, after all. She's impressed the managers beyond their expectations, so why should there be any concern? Yes…. She knows…. No matter. Why should I care if she knows or not? The more important matter is that Christine has no knowledge of Erik's Adellade. If she did, she would tell the others...then they might hurt Adellade…. No. We mustn't have that. Not again. No one will dare to hurt Erik's Adellade! No one!_


	4. Chapter 4

Adellade eyed the men and women attending the gala. Naturally, they were all chatting away about Christine's performance. She had done such a wonderful job. There wasn't a single person who didn't applaud after every aria, nor was there a bad remark to be made. A few of them murmured their praise for Adellade's dancing, which she took with grace and continued on. She wasn't one for praise-she never had been…. It always did come with some type of punishment or mocking remark….

"You were absolutely wonderful!" she cheered, finding Christine in the crowd. "You're all anyone can talk about!"

"I think they should talk about you more."

"Let them talk about the great Christine Daae!" She raised her glass in salute. "To the best sopranist in all of Paris! The crown jewel of the Opera Populaire!"

"You're too much!" she giggled.

"It's not every day I can say that my friend is a leading sopranist." She nudged Christine as the managers led two men toward them. "A sopranist catching the eye of a few potential suitors, it would seem."

"Here we are, gentlemen!" Andre announced. "Mademoiselle Christine Daae. These two men happen to be Count Philippe de Chagny and his younger brother Raoul, the Vicomte de Chagny."

"A pleasure, mademoiselle." Philippe nodded and kissed the back of Christine's hand. "And whom might you be?" he asked, eyeing Adellade.

"Our principal ballet girl: Mademoiselle Adellade Matthews," Firmin introduced.

"A friend of yours?" Raoul asked.

"A very good friend." Christine smiled at her.

"Well, a friend of Christine's is a friend of mine."

"You know each other?"

"Father once played in a village where Raoul and his family were staying," Christine explained. "Oh, you should've seen it! My scarf blew into the sea and he ran to fetch it, coming back completely soaking wet!"

"A childish thing to do in my opinion," Philippe pointed out.

"I think it was sweet." Adellade smiled.

"It was childish and foolish!" he argued. "Hardly a thing worthy of the son of a wealthy family."

She sighed. "I think I ought to leave you for now. Everyone here does want to talk with Christine Daae, after all. What's the difference in talking with her after a rehearsal rather than here? And Erik will be wondering where I am. Good night, monsieurs." She gave a curtsy and turned to leave them alone.

She walked away, searching for Meg and Madame Giry in the crowd. She ought to at least say something to them. Erik wasn't expecting her for a bit, but she had to say anything to leave them. Especially the Count! He was horrible company….

"You insolent little girl!" a woman screeched as they collided, interrupting her thoughts. "Look what you've done! SPilling your drink all over my dress!"

"I am so sorry, madame!" she apologized, kneeling to pick up the now empty glass. "It was an accident!"

"Do you have any idea who I am?"

She glanced up, seeing the woman fully for the first time. Her eyes widened as her muscles tensed, recognizing the features. It only took a second for her to recover her composure and swallow the fear (a skill she had perfected on her many meetings with the Shah). She gave a tiny shake of the head.

"I am Madeline Destler! I might not be as wealthy as some of the others here, but I certainly have more than enough to know that you should be grateful that I am not demanding your removal right this moment!"

"O-of course, madame." She stammered. "If you'll excuse me."

Adellade sighed, quickly walking away, head spinning. Madeline Destler was here! Here! At this very opera house! She set the glass aside and slipped out of the room, hurrying to one of the tunnels. She _had_ to escape. Anywhere but there.

She leaned against the wall surrounding the lake, taking a few breaths to calm herself, the cool surface of the stone feeling nice on her skin. She was glad that Erik wasn't there-the look of concern on his face if he saw her in such a state! She straightened, composing herself, before she stepped onto the narrow ledge of rock that led to the lair.

It was a small ledge with barely enough room for her foot to fit on-yet she had found it helpful when Erik was too busy to notice that she had returned. It was well hidden, so she had only found it on accident, but it served its purpose.

Safely on the other side, she found the wall, running her hands along the surface, attempting to find the small crack which hid the switch to open the door. She found it and jumped back to avoid falling as it opened before her. She walked inside to find Erik standing there with his hat and cloak in hand, a look of surprise on his face.

"I did not expect you to return so soon," he muttered.

"Well, here I am!" she announced, going to change out of the dress.

"Did something happen?" Erik called through the door.

"No," she lied. "I simply was tired of the whole thing. Too many people…. And all they wanted to talk about was Christine…." She sighed as she slipped into a nightgown. "Though I did hear so many theories about who her tutor could be! A wealthy unknown suitor…. Some man looking to train a young woman and rise her up into fame so that he himself can gain more pupils…."

"And does the mademoiselle have her theory?"

"I do, actually." She sighed and went to open the door, eyeing him. "But first: you need to help me get these pins out of my head."

"Hair," he corrected.

"Really? They feel like they are stabbing my _head_." She sat on the mattress as Erik's fingers worked to pull the pins out. "I think that Christine found herself a tutor somehow. Obviously he was impressed and taught her to sing, nonetheless!"

"And who might this man be? Do entertain a man's curiosity."

"He must be musically talented. And has intimate knowledge of the performers-how else would he know to have Christine ready for the new managers or that Carlotta would be certain to make a scene upon their arrival? He's a quiet man-he wasn't at the gala, and Christine hardly dared to mention him. He likes his privacy."

"Some men do. So, who might be able to live up to your presumptions of this mysterious tutor?"

"The opera ghost, of course!" She giggled and turned to face him. "Who else would know as much about the opera house as he would?"

"Ah, but he might not be musically gifted!"

"I think he is. Why else would he choose to haunt an opera house?"

"Perhaps there is an angel he cannot help but love."

"Ah, so he tutors Christine because he loves her?"

"I was talking about a _ballet_ girl," he corrected. "Not the sopranist."

"Then he should tutor her instead!"

"A ballet girl who wishes to learn to sing? My dear mademoiselle: I do recall you refusing to have anything to do with singing or anything regarding music!"

"I was seven years old! And she made me hate the violin!"

"And did she make you hate singing all the way in Persia? In Mazenderan?"

"I-I tried singing once-that-that didn't end well."

He wrapped his arms around her, holding her against him. She leaned her head on his chest.

"Erik did not mean to call up those memories. Memories which frighten his Adellade. Erik is sorry for frightening his Adellade."

"You were always there," she murmured. "Always."

"No one will hurt you again. I promise. Never again."

* * *

 _She was laughing, seeing the happy guests as they danced around to the music. They applauded as a man walked up onto the stage, taking a bow._

 _"As always: a fine piece by none other than our very own Monsieur Erik Destler!" Firmin announced. "Thankfully he remains as our composer-since none of the others seem to wish to work with him."_

 _Erik smiled and walked over to join the crowd, seeing her._

 _"All of this for you," she pointed out. "And everyone does love your music."_

 _"If it pleases you, then I am as happy as can be." He bowed and kissed her hand._

 _"It always pleases me to hear your music. You know that."_

 _"I still enjoy hearing the words from your lips." He led her into a dance. "Though you remain my preferred company to anyone else."_

 _"Erik…." She reached up to touch his face._

 _"You mustn't," he warned, casting a look over her shoulder._

 _She paused, seeing a figure watching them from the shadows. "Who-?" She turned, seeing that he had vanished. "Erik? Erik?"_

 _She made her way through the guests, searching for him. She found a door. She climbed the stairs, finding another door. She pulled at the handle, trying to get it to open. She threw her shoulder into it and tumbled out onto the floor, seeing him there before her, chains binding him to the room like a prisoner._

 _"Erik? What-what happened? What are these?"_

 _"Leave me."_

 _"What? Why would I leave you?"_

 _"Go! Now! Before she finds you here!"_

 _"No. Here. There must be a key someplace…."_

 _"Adellade, please. Go. Just go and leave me here. Pretend you never saw me! Go! Now!"_

 _"Erik…."_

 _"Little girls shouldn't be friends with monsters!" a woman's voice screeched around them._

 _"Go! Leave!" he begged. "Adellade! Hurry!"_

 _"No! Not without you!"_

 _"Adellade!"_

 _She reached to grab at the chains, finding the metal hot beneath her hands. She yelled and recoiled, staring at the metal, trying to see how he wasn't in pain…. She could see the burn marks on his skin…. The parts where flesh was burned away to mere scars…._

 _"Go. It's no use. You can't free me. Not from her."_

 _"No! I won't leave you!" She reached to undo the chains again._

 _A hand grabbed her by the wrist, pulling her away._

 _"No! Let go of me!"_

 _"Little girls shouldn't be friends with monsters! What could you ever know of this thing?"_

 _Another hand grabbed her, dragging her away, pulling her away from him._

 _"No! Let go of me! Don't you hear me? Let go! Let go!"_

 _"I will once you listen to me and wake up!"_

Her eyes opened, seeing Erik kneeling over her, both of his hands tightly gripping her wrists. She looked around at the room, seeing the fireplace, the organ, the couch, the chair…. She came to see his eyes, glaring at her, making her the tiniest bit afraid despite the voice in the back of her mind reminding her that he would never hurt her.

He relaxed a bit, the eyes softening as he sighed, standing to fetch something before returning to her. He tossed the water onto the fireplace, dousing the fire. He then went to fetch something else, returning with a lit candle which he placed on a table far out of her reach.

"Erik?" she asked.

"To prevent any infection," he muttered. "It's not too terrible, but it will still hurt."

"What will-?" She gasped, her hand twitching in his grasp as he poured an ointment onto her palm. "What was that for?" she demanded, twisting herself free of him, getting to her feet.

"I told you: to prevent an infection."

"Infection? From what?"

He stood and held his hand out toward her. "Your hand. _Now_ , Adellade." He rolled his eyes and grabbed her wrist, turning her arm so that her palm was facing her.

She peered at it, seeing the burn markings that were beginning to form…. Erik sighed and retrieved a bandage, wrapping her hand in silence.

"How...did…?"

"Erik is sorry he frightened his Adellade," he murmured in response, slowly moving to gently kiss her head before cleaning up the supplies.

 _It wasn't the chains I burned myself on,_ she thought to herself, staring at her hand. _It was the fire…._

He had attempted to explain it to her once long ago when she still had nightmares about Mazenderan-when she was still afraid of waking up to find that their escape from Persia was only a dream. She had asked him about why he insisted on locking all the doors and windows.

 _"What do you have nightmares about?" he asked._

 _"I-I dream that-that the Shah is doing something horrible...to you…. That we are back in Mazenderan."_

 _"Does that frighten you?"_

 _She nodded._

 _"What else happens?"_

 _"The Shah-he-he tries to hurt me. He-he takes a knife and-" She bit her lip._

 _He held up a piece of a broken bottle, turning it so that she could see the sharp ends of the broken glass. "This is what becomes your knife. This is why you wake with scratches on your arms-with new scars-with blood on your nightgown." Erik sighed. "It is called 'sleepwalking'. I hardly understand it myself from reading the texts I have found on the subject. However: it would seem that your fear is enough to induce sleepwalking...and causes you to act out your nightmares…."_

 _"I did that to myself?"_

 _"You needn't feel ashamed. You had no knowledge of the event." He wrapped his arms around her. "It was only the fear, Adellade. That's all. You were scared and wanted to run away. But it's alright now: you're safe. No one's going to hurt you-not ever again."_

"Does it hurt?" Erik asked, walking over toward her.

"Not too much."

He reached out and gently touched the side of her face, wiping away a tear. "Then why are you crying? You don't need to be afraid of the nightmare. Persia is far behind us, and…."

His voice trailed off as she hugged him, burying her face into his shirt as her shoulders shook, the sobs and tears escaping her. She held onto him, afraid to let him go-afraid that they were going to take him away and chain him up-just like in her nightmare.

"It's alright," he soothed. "Erik is here. It's alright."


	5. Chapter 5

She walked through the halls of the opera house, looking at the decorations, seeing the details…. The managers were busy trying to decide which opera to show next, which meant some time with no rehearsals, and thus an empty opera house-save for the ballet girls who lived in the dormitories.

It was nice to walk alone, seeing Erik's work without a distraction. She had seen it many times over the years, but there was still something about it that caused her to sigh in amazement.

She stiffened, bumping into someone else as she rounded a corner. "I am so sorry!"

"No need to-" He blinked. "Adellade? What are you doing here?"

"I could ask the same of you, Nadir." She put her hands on her hips. "Last I checked: you weren't working here."

"I was...checking in...with one of my sources. Helps to keep an eye on Erik. Old habits die hard, as you well know."

"And does this 'source' of yours have a fondness for lipstick?" she pointed out.

He blushed and wiped his hand over his mouth. "What are you doing here, anyways? It's a nice day out, and you're wandering the opera house."

"I always like to look at the detailing." She shrugged. "No matter how many times I see it, there's something new that I didn't notice before."

"Well, then how about I escort you to a little cafe I know near here? My treat."

"If you want me to tell you about Erik, you don't have to bribe me, Nadir." She smiled and took his arm.

"Ah, this is more two old friends chatting over a drink." He led her out and into the streets. "If he knew that I ever wanted you to spy on him…. Well, he might as well just about decide to kill me for it. He still thinks that I am the same man I was in Persia."

"Aren't you, though? 'Old habits die hard', remember?"

"And I still have a death threat if I ever dared to lay a hand on you," he muttered. "Speaking of which: if you would ever prefer to present a suitor to someone other than Erik, I would happily oblige."

"I don't have any suitors, Nadir."

"At your age? You should! Or is it his goal to keep you unmarried for the rest of your life?"

"Haven't you seen him?" she joked. "Every time a man tries to talk with me, he's there with his punjab lasso in hand, threatening to hang him! I can hardly go anywhere nowadays!"

"And he would fight off your suitors," he reminded. "Each and every one. I pity the man who wishes to court Adellade Matthews."

She sighed. "Nadir?"

"Yes?"

"You know every person in Paris, correct?"

"Just about. The work involves such a thing, you know. Need to stay informed on everyone-why do you ask?"

"There was a woman at the gala they had a few weeks ago. Madeline Destler, and I was wondering if…."

"I shall tell you what I know as soon as I've found her," he promised.

"Could you do something else as well? Could you not mention to Erik that I asked you to do this? Please?"

"You want me to keep this secret?"

"Yes. Please, Nadir? It's important."

"I will do my best. But he will learn of this sooner or later-you know that as well as I do."

"I'd rather have it be later," she muttered as they entered the cafe.

* * *

She re-entered the opera house, walking toward the stage to return to the lair. Adellade paused, hearing a small noise. She followed her ears, coming to Christine's dormitory. She knocked and footsteps sounded, followed by Christine opening the door. She looked at her friend, seeing the redness to her eyes….

"Are you alright?" she asked. "I heard you crying, so…."

"It-it was nothing," she sniffed. "I'm sorry to have worried you."

"Christine. Tell me." She walked into the room and sat on the bed.

"My-my tutor-" She swallowed. "Well, my father-when he was dying-he told me that-that he would send me the Angel of Music when he was in heaven. You know of the Angel of Music?"

She nodded. "It was my favorite story. My brother would tell it to me all the time when we were younger."

"Well, I came here-and the Angel of Music-he came to me. He-he's been tutoring me. Well, today he-he told me that-that I could meet him. So-so I did-and-and-the opera ghost! He's my Angel of Music! I-I thought it would be alright at first-but-but that mask he wore-I-I couldn't help but-but try to take it off-and when I did-oh, Adellade! The face! It was hardly a face! I was so afraid! So frightened! He-he was so horrid! Adellade, I-I can't even begin to describe it! And how he reacted! It was horrible! He was so upset and angry-I thought he might try to kill me! Adellade, I-"

She watched as her friend started crying again, throwing her arms around her for comfort. Adellade swallowed, uncertain of what to say. She knew Erik's face. She knew the horror it could cause-the reason he kept the mask on…. Oh, she had grown used to the way he looked over the years. It still frightened people-had been the last thing the Shah demanded the prisoners see before they died-the reason the gypsies called him the "Devil's Child"... The reason why, even now, he never put up any mirrors around the lair, why he still covered his face, why his stories had him as the devil…. And now here Christine was-another person frightened of the way Erik looked. She didn't know what to say. Didn't know what to tell her-how to even begin to comfort her.

Yet there was the matter of Erik's own reaction. The way he had been upset over Christine seeing him without his mask. She had seen him before-had caught a glimpse of the anger…. It was enough to frighten anyone who dared to become his target-whether intentional or not….

* * *

She walked into the lair, eyeing the room before her. Erik was nowhere to be found, which she thought odd as he hardly ever left. She made her way over to his room, seeing the normally locked door slightly open. She peered through the crack, seeing the dark space, the shattered remains of what looked to be a chair.

She opened the door further, casting light on the room. She entered, searching for any sign of him. She ran her fingers along the edge of the casket, seeing the shelves of old Persian drugs and poisons he had somehow found. Most of the furniture was badly damaged from a long time ago. The shelves were covered with a thick layer of dust, the books having been hardly touched.

Her foot stepped on something and she knelt to pick it up, seeing the pages of scribbled music-the result of his mind composing faster than he could write. She eyed it, seeing the complicated strings of notes, the chords piled on top of each other…. It didn't resemble anything he had composed before. She turned to the beginning, reading the title. _Don Juan Triumphant_.

A shadow fell over her as he reached down and took the music from her hands. "That piece is one that should never be read by anyone. Especially you, Adellade." Erik walked over to the casket and set the music within. "Now, the matter at hand: why are you here?"

"I came back and I didn't see you." She stood. "The door was opened, and I had thought that you were inside."

"One of the traps required my attention," he explained, moving so she left the room, as he closed the door behind them. "Did you have a pleasant time with the Daroga?"

"It was nice." She looked at him, seeing the stiff way he held himself, as if silently restraining his movements-the same way he held himself when he was upset. "I would've been here sooner, but I ran into Christine, and she-well, she mentioned something about the Angel of Music, and it reminded me of how much I used to love that story."

"You requested it so often, I seemed to find myself surprised when you wanted something else," he remarked.

"It-it just made me miss when you would tell it to me."

He sighed and eyed her. "There are children who are able to play wondrous melodies from the time they are very young. It is said that the Angel of Music visits them in the cradle and sings to them-teaches them how to play music. If they are very good, then they will grow to become prodigies. If not, then the Angel will leave them. If they are evil or wicked, then he will cast them aside-those are the children who never learn music in their entire lifetime."

"And how does the Angel of Music decide on whom to teach?"

"Ah, he does so by going about the children, seeing which ones he believes will make the best musicians, of course!"

"Do you think the Angel of Music ever taught you?"

"No." He shook his head. "I only hear the music he plays and then write it down for everyone else to hear. There _is_ a difference, mind you. And why would he dare to teach me? Such a face…."

She gently touched him. "I think you were taught more than you realize. You were never evil. Not truly."

"If I was ever sent an angel, then they bestowed upon her the name of Adellade Destler." He gently kissed her head. "And that is all I require of any angel."

"Why don't you ever play the music? The one that's hidden away in your room?"

"It is not finished yet. It would be foolish of me to allow anyone to listen to an unfinished piece. Here, why don't I play you something else instead?"

* * *

He sat alone in his room, leaning up against the casket, turning through the pages of the music, seeing that they were in order….

Something had compelled him earlier that day to allow her to come into the lair. Something-he couldn't figure what it was-but something had compelled him. Ah, but she had sang to him-had sang _for_ him. What music she had sung! And then there was the way she had looked there, singing.

He had seen Adellade so many times, had memorized the way she looked. He had seen her grow from a small child into-though he hated to admit it-a woman. He had seen her in as little fabric as possible in Persia, yet nothing had drawn his curiosity the way Christine had. He had looked at Christine as if he could never get enough…. He had stood, reaching out toward her, touching her, almost exploring the way she felt…. He had been around many women before, but none had captivated him as much as she had.

Had that been desire? Desire for the love and affection of a woman? He loved Adellade, yet that was different than what he wanted with Christine. With Adellade, he wanted her safe, he wanted her protected…. She was his family, was still a child who needed protection in his eyes. She was his to keep safe. And then there was Christine…. He wanted her-to be all she wanted-to have her be waiting for him. He wanted to have her so that no other man could have her the way he did.

Then he turned the page, seeing the scribbled notes, the pounding chords.

Christine was still a woman-curious about things she didn't understand. He had forgotten that women could be so curious. Adellade was still curious-but less so about small, trivial things. She could figure it out-could tell what it was on her own...had seen enough to figure it out…. A simple mask wouldn't peak her curiosity-wouldn't compel her to remove it to see the face beneath-not the way it had Christine.

Oh, the horror that had been on her face. The pure horror at seeing him. Then he had reacted, had screamed at her, forced her to look. He had been angry-why couldn't she had left it alone? Why did she have to remove it? Why did she have to look?

It was all he could do to take her back to the dormitory and leave, fleeing to his lair, to the music…. Once it was out, it hadn't been enough, so he had fled still. Going into the tunnels to a place he knew…. A place he could scream and cry and rage all he wanted without hurting anyone. Adellade had been gone, out with the Daroga, and if he had hurt her when she had returned…. He might as well hang himself with his own lasso.

 _"Why don't you ever play the music? The one that's hidden away in your room?"_

HIs fingers rested on the notes. Twenty-eight years. That's how long he had heard _Don Juan Triumphant_ inside his mind. Twenty-eight years.

 _"It is not finished yet. It would be foolish of me to allow anyone to listen to an unfinished piece."_

It wasn't a lie. It wasn't the truth. It was the answer that would best satisfy her. Twenty-eight years he had been working on the music, and he wouldn't stop until the day he laid down in the casket and breathed his last. He would lie there, his hands holding onto the music…. He would be buried with it. No one should hear it. At least not until she joined him at the end of a long, happy life, that is.

 _I could never play this for you,_ he thought to where she slept in the other room. _Never. You would cry, Adellade. You would weep for your poor Erik. You would cry and you might never stop. How could I dare to be the cause of such tears? You ask anything of me, and I will gladly do it. Anything except play this for you-anything except for that. You would cry, and I would never dare to inflict that grief on you._

He rested his head against the casket's hard surface, eyes closing as he sighed. He had seen her cry before. Had seen her cry from pain. They had hurt her, and he had felt the lashes, the blades, the hands. He had comforted her, had done his best to soothe her tears, to cease those poisonous tears that flowed from her and into his heart. He had once thought himself to never possess such an organ until he had seen her cry…until he had wanted her to stop at once so as to cease the pain such a thing caused in him.

He stood and placed the music back into the casket, seeing the other sheets he had piled up in a corner. Old songs and arias and requiems. He had composed many requiems before. There was one for Madeline Destler, for the Shah of Persia, for the gypsy man who loved to hurt her so…. There was one for Rosina Matthews who had cared for him the way a mother should. There was even one for the Daroga he played to block out how annoying he was at times. There was one for Charles Garnier to be gifted to the man on the day of his death. There was even one for himself, as no other composer could do him justice. Every person who might as well have been important in his life, he had composed a requiem for them….

All except for one that is. He had tried, yet he couldn't bring himself to write the notes. Writing them would mean an admittance of the certainty. He had found himself drifting toward the idea, only to run away from it and into another piece of music. He could never picture her-could never see her there before him. It was always incomplete-always ended with her waking to greet him and comment about the morning's light or the stars at night. No. He couldn't write that one. Not a single composer could do her justice-not in the entire world…. Yet he could never bring himself to compose such a thing. Nor would he be able to allow himself the time. Requiems took time, and he could never live to compose such a thing.

He entered her room, walking over to the bed, reassuring himself that she still slept peacefully-that her mind was at ease with pleasant dreams to entertain her. He often wondered what she dreamed of. Sunny walks? Soft lights on a city? Whatever it was, he did hope it was something to make her happy. She deserved that and so much more.

Erik leaned over her and gently kissed her hair so as to not disturb her. He did love Adellade. He wanted everything for her. He wanted her to worry about nothing, to be forever happy-to have true, genuine happiness. To know the same kindness and affection she had somehow shown him.

 _My dear, sweet little Adellade. How an angel such as yourself has ever come to love someone such as myself I shall never know. All I shall know is that you have saved Erik time and time again. No…. You deserve so much more than happiness…. So much more…._

* * *

 **DoctorPhantom: No...I'm not...about to cry after writing that last section... (sniffs, awkward stares in background)**


	6. Chapter 6

**DoctorPhantom: Odd. Lengthwise, this ended up being like a random little baby chapter in the middle of everything...but after the previous one...I guess we could all use a nice break from long chapters?**

* * *

She moved through the dance, conscious about the people watching her as she did so. The managers had insisted on a private performance for the patrons, and she was thus obliged to comply. Adellade sighed, finally reaching the end without too much difficulty and hardly any mistakes.

"You were correct in saying that Madame Giry had instructed her well," Raoul commented.

"And where did you learn?" Philippe demanded of her. "Who taught you?"

"Madame Giry herself, monsieur," Adellade answered.

"You did not receive any schooling? Did not have any tutors?"

"No, monsieur. I had my brother-though I don't think Erik would be able to tutor me in ballet."

"Your parents, then? They didn't send you to dance at a conservatory?"

"I don't have any parents. Our father died when we were young, and mother died when I was seventeen years old."

"An orphan girl? An untrained orphan girl dancing at our opera house?" he scoffed. "I know several dancers who would be much preferred as our principal girl to her."

"Aren't you being a bit harsh?" Raoul pointed out.

"This is a prestigious opera house! We can't have simply _anyone_ here! The de Changy family will only support the best of the arts! Nothing less! Especially not a penniless orphan girl!"

"You make an exception for Christine!" Raoul argued.

"I only do that out of your past history-nothing more, brother. But this? Paris-no, France-is full of ballerinas who can dance circles around her! They've had the training, the status, the money! Why not be rid of her and hire one of them instead?"

"I have some money, and I've learned all that I know from Madame Giry herself!" she argued.

"Then you'll be able to survive. Perhaps join another company. Or run away to join some troupe. The gypsies are always willing to hire anyone who can spin around in circles."

"No," she whispered as he left.

Raoul sighed and walked over toward her, shrugging. "I'm sorry. I wish I could help, but-it's not my decision. I really do wish I could help. Perhaps I can try to put in a word with some of the other opera houses and ballets-try to help."

"Why? Why would he do this?" She grabbed his arm. "Please, monsieur. I-I need to know why."

"Normally, I wouldn't...but as you're Christine's friend…." He sighed. "One of the other patrons-and close acquaintance of my father's-she demanded that you be removed. I am sorry, but it's out of my hands."

She swallowed. "Which-which patron?"

"Madame Destler."

She released him and sighed, nodding. "I'll go-I ought to pack my things first."

Adellade turned before he could get a word in, quickly hurrying away toward one of the other tunnels. Erik was waiting for her and she climbed in without a word, a hollow feeling in her stomach.

"So, the patrons were that horrible?" he asked as they entered the lair.

"You-you weren't there?"

"I left soon after you finished. I didn't expect them to be that horrible-the look on your face alone suggests that your routines will be more difficult soon enough, and-"

He stopped, just barely managing to avoid being hit by the small trinket that shattered against the wall. He eyed her with confusion. She stared at him in surprise, just realizing what she had done-it had been on impulse-a reflex.

"What happened?" he asked, using as gentle of a tone as he could, carefully watching her should she intend to throw anything else at his head. "Adellade, tell me what happened."

"They-they said I could no longer-could no longer dance at-at the opera house."

"Why would they say that?" he demanded. "You're the best dancer there! No one would be able to argue otherwise!"

She fell to her knees, staring at the floor. She was hardly aware of him as he walked over to her and knelt down in front of her.

"Why would they say that you could no longer dance?" he repeated. "Adellade?"

"They wanted someone who could dance!" she lied. "Someone who had a name-titles-schooling-tutors!"

"Ah, but none of those girls can dance like you can," he encouraged. "They may have fancy titles, but none of them could ever survive a day in the Persian Court! What's more of a title than that?"

She did her best to smile at that. She wanted to keep him with her. She had lied to keep him from knowing the truth-to keep him with her. Madeline Destler had always destroyed everything she liked. Everything. She had taken away the dancing it and twisted it, making it so that Adellade had no choice but to hate it-the same way she had done all those years ago….

 _But he will learn of this sooner or later-you know that as well as I do_ , Nadir's voice echoed inside her head.

 _I'll keep him from the truth,_ she thought back to it. _I will._


	7. Chapter 7

Erik sat in his private box, watching as the managers auditioned other girls to fill the vacancy left by Adellade. Each one was given her routine, told to dance it as best as she could, and then sent on her way. He glared at them all, knowing that they would be replacing his Adellade all because they held a fancy title. He couldn't help but smirk a bit, recognizing Giry's hand in all of this-the routines being much more difficult than any Adellade had performed, and even more difficult for any of these girls to hope of perfecting.

The door to his box opened.

"This is the opera ghost's private box, monsieur," Madame Giry announced. "I doubt he will be pleased to know that you wish to remain here."

"Thank you, madame."

The door closed and his eyes narrowed. "Why are you here, Daroga?"

"I heard that they were replacing Adellade, but with these girls?" he muttered, taking a seat a few spaces away from Erik.

"Why are you here?" he growled. "If you had only come because _Sorelli_ had told you about all of this, you would've found Adellade."

"I also came across the reason she was being replaced."

"So she does not have a family name or title to impress the patrons! Even I know that Adellade could never play the part no matter how hard she tried."

"Oh-that-right. Of course."

He turned to look at him. " _What do you know, Daroga_?"

"She asked me to look into something for her, and I came across the whole thing. I only had the confirmation about her removal from Sorelli."

"And what exactly is it that you came across?"

"It's not my place to say."

" _Say it or else I shall be forced to hang you up by the chandelier_."

Nadir sighed. "Only if you promise to not take your revenge-seeing as Adellade made me swear to not tell you about any of this."

Erik reluctantly nodded.

"It would seem that the woman she asked me to look into has close connections with the de Chagny family-and for reasons unknown to me-it was she who demanded Adellade's removal."

"And who is this woman who thinks she can have the right to say whether or not she dances in the ballet?"

"Some widow with just enough money and history to have a minor influence. There's nothing in particular that would cause her to stand out, so I simply presumed it was a matter of curiosity."

" 'nothing in particular'?"

"She's a widow. Her husband died a few years ago, and she has no children to look after. Pity about that-infant son died, and her daughter fell ill or something before her tenth birthday."

"Did you come across a name for this woman?"

"Madeline something…." He frowned. "Destler! That's it. Madeline Destler."

Erik stiffened upon hearing that name. Could it actually be? That _was_ a long time ago-another lifetime entirely, it seemed-yet could it actually be the same woman? The very same Madeline Destler who dared to once call herself Adellade's own _mother_?

 _She was yours as well,_ a voice taunted at the back of his mind.

He banished it away. He had never considered her his own mother. From the time he could think for himself, Erik had toyed around with the fantasy that he was from a different family-that they had been separated once long ago-that they were searching for him…. Adellade was his only family as far as he was concerned.

But for that woman to dare to show her face around here! To dare to demand that Adellade be removed from the ballet! He would not stand for this. He couldn't stand for this.

 _She had known_ , the voice taunted once again. _She had known and hadn't told Erik. She had known that Madeline Destler was here. How long had she kept it a secret from Erik?_

He found himself wandering the tunnels, his feet knowing which path would lead him to the lair, allowing his mind to work freely. When had she known? How could he not have known that something was wrong? How could he have been blind enough to allow her to hide this from him? Oh, there were things she never did speak of, but he had learned enough to recognize the signs. Those days of Mazenderan when she would walk about his rooms with a small favoring to one side due to an injury, or a forced smile to cover the pain…. He had known how much she had been hurt without her ever needing to speak a word-how much fear they had struck into her….

He came to a stop. Fear…. Fear was the one thing she could never hide from him…. The nightmares…. Sleepwalking…. He should've known that something was wrong the night she had burned herself. The first night she had sleepwalked in a very long time…. He had assumed it was another nightmare about the Shah-which she still had on occasion however much he would prefer she didn't-but none of them had driven her to sleepwalk.

The night of the gala. That had been it. That must've been the first moment she had known about Madeline Destler. Erik cursed himself a thousand times over for failing to realize that something had occurred.

 _You had been distracted. Distracted by Christine Daae's performance. Distracted by the praise she was receiving._

Erik sighed, knowing it was true as he entered the lair. She was sitting on the couch, reading through one of the volumes he kept around. She looked up as he entered, marking the page should she wish to return to it later.

"How were the auditions?"

"Hm?"

"The auditions-for another dancer?" she prompted. "That _was_ where you were, wasn't it?"

"Ah. Yes. Of course." He nodded. "None of them were capable of matching up to Giry's routines..."

"I would imagine so." She smiled. "The routines _were_ always difficult. Did they find a new one?"

"I wouldn't know. I stopped paying attention. None of them were you."

"Well, if you ever want a private performance, who am I to go against the wishes of the opera ghost himself?"

"I suppose I simply found myself distracted."

"Did you begin conjuring up a new opera? An aria, perhaps?"

"No. No. Nothing of that sort."

"Oh?"

"The Daroga-he seemed it necessary to pay me a visit."

"Nadir? What did he want?"

"Nothing much. He only wished to see if it was true that you had been removed from the ballet."

"Ah. Did Sorelli tell him? I figured it was her, seeing as she's been going on and on about a 'new suitor unlike any she had ever seen before in all of Paris'. Given Nadir's reputation, it wasn't too difficult to figure out."

"He also told me an interesting thing," he began. "It would seem that a _woman_ had a hand in your removal. A woman whom _you_ had Nadir look into behind Erik's back."

"Oh." She looked at her hands. "That. It was only curiosity. She was the first one I hadn't seen before who was interested in becoming a patron of the opera house, so naturally I asked Nadir to look into who she was for me. I didn't have much to go on, mind you, and-well-I didn't think it would be of much importance to you, so that's why I decided to ask Nadir to not tell you."

"Adellade…."

"Did he find anything?" she murmured.

"Only that she once had two children and a husband who has been long dead for the past few years now."

"That was all?" She seemed to relax a bit.

" _And that her name happens to be Madeline Destler_ ," he growled.

"Oh," she squeaked. "Really?"

"You knew and you didn't think to tell me?"

"It wouldn't have matter too much, would it?"

"How long have you known that she was here?"

"Since the night of the gala." She sighed. "I accidentally spilled a drink on her, she got mad, and apparently that is enough of an excuse to remove someone from the ballet! It was a silly thing, Erik! Nothing too terrible happened-at least not until I learned that she was the reason I was being removed…. I didn't think to tell you, and I know I should have, but...I just sort of...forgot."

He walked over to her and knelt down. "But something did happen that night. You were afraid, Adellade. You burned yourself, remember? And Erik is sorry-very sorry for not realizing that something might've happened-for assuming it was another nightmare about Persia…. He should've known that something had happened-that something had happened to scare his Adellade that much."

"Erik…."

"You needn't worry. Not about that. She won't ever touch you-she won't even find you here. It has been awhile, and it is very likely that she didn't know who you are…."

"It-it's not that I'm concerned about."

"Then what? Tell Erik."

"I-I was more afraid that-that she might-that she might try to-try to take-to take you-away from me."

"No," he reassured, wrapping his arms around her. "No one is going take me away from you. No one can Erik away from his Adellade." _And no one is going to take Adellade from Erik,_ he silently added. "I promise you: whatever it may take, I am staying _right here with you_. Understand? I am not leaving you. Not now. Not ever."


	8. Chapter 8

Adellade sighed, walking over to softly knock on Christine's dressing room door.

"It's you!" she greeted, quickly pulling her inside.

"I only came once I heard what the managers were planning!" she pointed out. "Going against the opera ghost's wish to have you sing the lead is like asking to be killed with a knife-or worse!"

"Do-do you think he will do something?" Christine asked. "To hurt me? I tried to get them to comply, but-"

"No." She shook her head. "Christine, no. I'm certain he wouldn't hurt you-if anything the _managers_ are the ones going against his wish, not you." She smiled and wrapped her arms around her friend. "I'll come by after the performance, and you'll see that everything will work out."

"Would he harm you?" she asked.

Adellade paused at the door, turning. "Why would I be in any danger?"

"Because of his other demand: to have you return to the ballet, of course!"

"I highly doubt he would. After the performance, Christine. That is a promise!"

She walked back through the halls and slipped into one of Erik's tunnels, finding him where they were supposed to be meeting.

"The opera ghost demanded that I be put back in the ballet?"

He murmured a reply and she eyed him as the lights began to dim for the performance. Erik sighed and opened up the door to box five, motioning for her to enter.

She touched his arm. "You wouldn't hurt Christine, would you?"

"As you said yourself: it was the managers who went against Erik's wish, not Christine."

She shook her head and took her seat, watching as the opera played. Carlotta screeched her notes as usual, and somehow everyone seemed to enjoy such a thing-which had always surprised her during her time at the opera house-something she had presumed was only a habit of listening to Erik's music.

She glanced to the side as he watched, trying to see through that mask he wore. She could see he was still unhappy with everything-the tightening grip on the arm of his chair, the unrelaxed posture…. There was something else as well, though. His eyes. They weren't fully focused on the stage itself.

The lights came on for the intermission as everyone got up to stretch and talk.

"What is it?"

"The new box-keeper," he muttered, pressing the tips of his fingers together. "They invited her to see the performance."

"But, Madame Giry is the box-keeper, isn't she?"

"They have decided to replace her." Erik sighed. "They are lucky to not have rented out the box itself. Why don't you return to the lair? You've seen this one before-and it's only bound to have little excitement in the second act. You'd have more entertainment from your books."

"I-I promised Christine I would see her after the opera. She-well, she was worried that the opera ghost might try to hurt me because I wasn't in the ballet. I knew _you_ wouldn't, but still…. Christine doesn't know that you're the opera ghost."

"I can pass along a message-perhaps a note saying that you felt ill and had to take your leave."

She stood to leave and paused. "Aren't you coming?"

"I'll be there shortly."

* * *

He sighed, hearing her leave through the tunnel as everyone began to gather back for the second act. His eyes narrowed, watching as she took her seat.

 _So you dare to return to the opera house once again, Madeline,_ he thought to her. _You will never hurt Erik's Adellade-and it is time for Erik to ensure that._

The lights dimmed as the curtain rose. He waited for the moment to strike-the moment Adellade would be safely back in the lair once more. He had lied to get her away. He had even lied about only seeing the new box-keeper so as to draw her attention away from Madeline. She had spoken to the woman once and had burned herself that very night out of fear. He didn't want to know what seeing her might induce.

Carlotta began screeching again and he leaned back, throwing his voice so that it echoed around the opera house.

"WERE MY INSTRUCTIONS UNCLEAR?"

Gasps flew through the audience.

"Maestro!" Carlotta commanded.

The orchestra slowly started up as she began singing once more.

"YOU DARE TO HAVE HER SING? BEHOLD HER SINGING! SEE HOW SHE SINGS TO BRING DOWN THE CHANDELIER!"

It suddenly fell from the ceiling as the audience screamed and shrieked, scrambling out of the way as the chandelier crashed into the seats, injuring several people.

He stood and used his tunnels to access the seats below him, easily able to blend into the crowd amongst all the panic. Erik went to inspect the damage, searching for the one face he desired to see lying on the seats in agony. He growled a curse, finding that Madeline had escaped unharmed.

Erik returned, heading back toward the lair before someone saw him.

* * *

She stiffened, hearing screams shortly followed by a large crash which shook the lair. Adellade ran for the door, picking up her skirts to travel across the ledge as quickly as possible. She ran into one of the tunnels, scrambling to find a door, following the sounds of shrieks.

 _No. No. No. No. Oh, Erik. What did you do? Please be alright. Please, please be alright._

They collided and he caught her by the waist.

"I-I heard a-a crash-and-and there were-there were screams-and-and-"

"It's alright," he soothed. "It's alright. The fixture holding the chandelier in place broke, causing it to fall into the audience. That's all."

"I was worried," she admitted as he led her back to the lair.

"You needn't worry. Erik has escaped far worse than a chandelier before."

* * *

She stood at the edge of the seats, watching as they cleaned up the damage. Adellade sighed and left, going toward the dormitories to see if she could find any sign of Christine. She paused, though, hearing something from one of the stairwells leading to the rooftop. Was her friend up there instead?

She climbed up, only to be met by Raoul and Christine as they left the roof.

"Christine!" she greeted. "I-I was looking for you, and-I just saw the chandelier. What happened?"

"The opera ghost! He dropped the chandelier on account of Carlotta's terrible singing!" Christine hugged her. "I am glad to see you safe, though. Come, Raoul! Before he finds us!"

Adellade let them go and turned to follow. She found herself stopping, however, compelled to the rooftop. She walked out and wrapped her arms around shoulders, being greeted by the cold night air. She sighed and looked out at the lights of Paris before her, seeing the distant glow.

"You should be in the lair where it's warmer."

She turned in the direction of the voice, seeing Erik sitting on the balcony, concealed within the shadow of a statue. He held something in his fingers, though she couldn't quite make it out.

"I came to see if Christine was alright," she admitted. "Didn't you hear? The opera ghost was so enraged by Carlotta's singing that he dropped a chandelier on the heads of the audience!"

"The fixtures were old," he muttered. "They needed replacing. Does the mademoiselle enjoy the view from her palace?"

"I may never be accustomed to seeing the lights," she sighed, leaning on the balcony. "Persia was always so dark at night-much too dark. The lair's dark as well, but that's a different sort of darkness. What is that you have? In your hand there?"

"A rose for a young sopranist from a vicomte," he murmured. "Seemed a shame to leave it on the rooftop."

"Erik?"

"Hm?"

"Did you-did you teach Christine to sing because-well-because you loved her?"

"I taught her because I saw potential. She had a voice that should not go unwasted." He sighed. "Who is to say what happened after? Ah, but Christine Daae could never come to love Erik after seeing behind the mask. Who could love a face that shamed a mother into locking her cursed son up in an attic until a gypsy came along to offer her a price? The same face that became the last a man ever saw in Persia…. The face of the feared opera ghost himself."

"I have. There is so much more to you than you appear. Your mind alone can dream up palaces and music unlike any that has ever been heard before! Your hands can craft magic and call up melodies from any instrument you choose! How could you ever think that your face is the only thing that defines you? I have seen monsters-I have lived with them-and not a single one ever looked the way you do. _Not a single one, Erik Destler_! And if you can't see that, then maybe you're not as clever as you think you are!"

She turned and left him, heading inside. She sighed, going toward the main entrance of the opera house instead of the lair. She needed to be someplace other than here. Perhaps she could find a carriage to take her to Nadir's home?

"This is absolutely outrageous!" a woman screeched on the steps of the opera house. "To think that something like this could happen? You are all mad! Every single one of you!"

She stopped and stared, seeing the scene before her as the managers attempted to calm Madeline Destler down. She had been at the opera? How could Adellade not have seen her? Did Erik know?

She looked up toward the rooftop, trying to see where he might be. She couldn't figure out which statue it was that he was hiding behind. Which one?

A rose floated through the air and she ran to catch it, looking up just in time to see the flash of a cloak as he turned to leave his hiding spot.

"What do you think you are doing here?" Madeline demanded, leaving the managers to see to another matter.

"I was waiting on a carriage," she lied. "I do hope he's not late…. Such a panic that caused…."

"You expect me to believe that some sort of _lover_ of yours was able to afford to take you-an insolent little nothing such as yourself-to an opera?"

"My brother, actually." Her eyes narrowed. "And I don't need any sort of title to tell me that I can dance circles around that new ballerina they found! I might not have some fancy name or such, but I have my brother and he's been far more than enough over the years! Now, if you'll excuse me: I'll be going! Best not wait out here seeing how it'll take him awhile."

"You little-how dare you speak to someone of my status?"

" _You don't frighten me_. What else could you do to me? I've already been released from dancing at the opera house! What more could you do to me? You have no power over me! Nothing!"

"How dare you! How dare you speak to someone like me! Your parents ought to be ashamed to know that you're their daughter!"

"As far as I'm concerned: I don't have any parents. My father's dead and my mother might as well be! She was never my mother! _You were never my mother_ and I can't believe it took me this long to realize it!"

Madeline's eyes widened as her words sunk it. Adellade too realized what she had just said and made to run, being stopped by her tight grip around her wrist. Madeline dragged her toward a waiting carriage, tossing her in and locking the door behind them as the carriage drove off.


	9. Chapter 9

She was half-flung into a chair in the sitting room. Adellade swallowed, looking around at her unfamiliar surroundings.

"So… You are here," Madeline began. "My own daughter returned to me…."

"I meant it when I said those things!" She stood. "I haven't been your daughter for a very long time!"

"But you are still my own flesh and blood." She grinned. "A daughter who once lost her memories and wandered off away from home-who has been living on the streets ever since...only to return to her mother in a glorious reunion! Yes. I can see it now!"

"No. I am not becoming some little girl you can parade around! That's not who I am!"

"Oh, but it will be. You think that your wretched brother still lives on? I can assure you that I will find him and once I do: we can finally be rid of the monster he is!"

"You wouldn't dare."

"As long as you behave and play your part: I won't have to."

* * *

The next few months passed by in a blur. Adellade found herself being paraded and presented-a prisoner of her own mother's trick. She soon perfected the part of a good little daughter for the press, the managers, the seamstresses-only to vanish into her bed where she could dream of being with Erik once more.

 _"Adellade?" Erik whispered into her ear as she practiced at the opera house. "Adellade? Where have you been? Why do you refuse to come home to your Erik?"_

Oh, how many hours she had spent after that with endless tears, wishing she could tell him everything-could kneel before him and confess Madeline's horrid prison to him, knowing that he would find a way to rescue her from this. She wanted to hear his voice, to hear him comforting her with words-a song-anything at all to chase this all away! She wanted to feel his arms around her, shielding her from monsters.

But the sheets she wrapped herself in were never Erik's arms. The birds outside her window were never Erik's songs. And the chains that kept her locked to her bed during her nightmares were never Erik's doings.

* * *

He watched as she practiced with the other girls. Naturally Meg had been questioning her, demanding to know if it was all true.

His hands clenched into fists so hard that the knuckles turned white as she answered that it was. That she had simply lost her memory, only to find it once more-to find that she was Madeline Destler's daughter whom she had previously believed to be dead…. That her brother was truly dead-that she had dreamed him up….

He had tried to talk to her, had tried to call out to her in the hope that she might sneak away to visit with him-to explain all of this. She refused still. Months later and she still refused!

He paced around in his lair, trying to think, trying to figure why she would do this! Why she would play the little daughter! Why she would go along with this story! He needed to talk to her-to see his Adellade. He had to talk to her-even if it was for a simple farewell, it would still be enough. He had to talk to her.

He paused, thinking. The opera house's anniversary was soon coming up. The affair was always grand-a traditional ball to be thrown-and a masquerade at that! Everyone was to attend…. It would be such a shame if Madeline Destler and Erik's Adellade failed to show-scandalous at the very least. No...Madeline would refuse to have such a thing occur…. And as a masquerade-what was one more mask amongst many? He was the opera ghost, after all! It would be such a shame for him not to attend.

 _I will see you again, my Adellade,_ he thought to her. _You will talk with your Erik. You must. You must talk with Erik. You must._

* * *

She was escorted inside the opera house. Adellade sighed, eyeing the dancing crowd of masked figures. Madeline had insisted on her finding a nice suitor, which was enough for what she needed. A masked man at a masquerade ball….

Madeline left her to talk with some other patrons. She walked around, eyeing the men. He had to be somewhere around here. She knew that he would recognize her. She held a gloved hand up to her locket, reassuring herself that it was still there. Erik would recognize it just as he had all those years ago.

 _Please find me,_ she begged to him. _Please, Erik. Please find me_.

* * *

He sighed as another partner finished dancing with him. Erik looked around, searching for her whilst playing the part of an eligible suitor. He made his remarks, kindly excused himself, and all the things he ought to do to keep up the facade. She was bound to come, and he was bound to find her. It was only a matter of time.

* * *

"Might I have the honor of a dance, mademoiselle?" a voice asked.

She turned, seeing a man before her. "Oh. Of course, monsieur." She sighed and took his hand as he pulled her into a waltz.

"Forgive me for asking: but why do you seem so upset at a ball such as this? Certainly a woman such as yourself should be capable of enjoying a dance."

"It's nothing, monsieur." She gave him a small smile. "Truly."

"I do hope you are unwed still. Otherwise I might be compelled to steal you away from him."

"My mother is hoping that I find a suitor tonight."

"Then allow me to present myself as a man hoping to win your hand." He pulled her closer to him and leaned down to whisper in her ear. "Anyone who has such a taste in lockets as yourself does have a tendency to catch my eye, Mademoiselle _Matthews_."

"Erik," she breathed.

"Why did you leave without a goodbye?" He reached out to touch her face and she turned away from him.

"I can't. Not here."

"Adellade…."

"I can't." _If I do, then she'll notice, and you'll be hurt._

"Please," he begged.

"I'm sorry. I just can't." She removed the locket from around her neck and placed it in his hand. "Goodbye, Erik."

She turned and left, biting back the tears, forcing herself not to turn back.


	10. Chapter 10

She sighed, walking through the graveyard, eyeing the stones. She came to a stop at one, seeing the name written there. Erik Destler. The dates put him at hardly a week old. She smiled to herself, recalling the time she had gone exploring outside of Paris-had happened upon the stone….

 _"What is this?" he asked, eyeing the mess in the kitchen._

 _"Oh. I tried baking."_

 _"My dear it looks more as if you were attempting to protect the house from a burglar. What could possibly compel you to attempt baking of all things?"_

 _"I might've gone exploring...and found a gravestone…."_

 _"Did you?" He walked over to the table and picked up one of the blueprints. "I do hope you didn't get anything on this. The designs are complicated in themselves…."_

 _"Why is there a stone with your name on it?"_

 _"What do you mean?"_

 _"There's a gravestone. With your name on it. With the name Erik Destler on it."_

 _He set the plans down. "It was a long time ago. Facades are not easy to keep up, and people would question why a mother had not bothered to bury her own child…." He turned to look at her. "You still have not answered my question as to why you attempted baking."_

 _"There might've been a date on the stone-and that date might've been today's date." She sighed. "And don't people normally bake cakes on people's birthdays?"_

 _He chuckled and shook his head in disbelief. "If you are so determined, then perhaps you ought to run down to the bakery and buy a cake instead of making one."_

 _"I also got this." She held out a wrapped thing. "For you."_

 _He paused and took it from her, undoing the wrappings to reveal a pen. He examined it, eyeing the surface._

 _"The man said it was really good-and you did keep getting frustrated at all of your other ones, so…."_

 _"You think I deserve something this beautiful when I already have you?"_

 _"It's just a pen!" She blushed. "I'll go and buy that cake before the shop closes."_

She sighed and knelt down before the stone, placing the flower she had brought in front of it, seeing the tied piece of parchment.

"Adellade?"

She turned, sighing with relief when she saw that it was only Christine.

"Am I interrupting something?" she asked as she approached. "Erik Destler? Wasn't he your brother? The one who died? The one you imagined?"

"I know he's not real, but the one I did pretend to know-he feels real somehow. I wrote him a letter-almost as a way to pretend that he's real-that I can still talk to him…. Forgive me: I'm interrupting your own visit. Might I accompany you, if you don't mind, of course!"

Christine nodded and led her to another grave. Adellade read over the name. "Charles Daae? Your father?"

"Yes. I was hoping to ask him for guidance. The opera ghost wants me to be the lead soprano in his new opera-yet I don't know if I could, Adellade. I still see him sometimes when I close my eyes…. I can still hear his voice-can still feel him singing to me…."

"The same way I can still feel my brother. As if it's a whole other life…. He told me things-stories, mostly. A story about a demon who loved someone when he thought he couldn't love himself…."

"Did he ever come to love who he was? The demon in those stories?"

"I suppose I'll never know." She shrugged. "He was a nice demon, Christine-and he always was. They only saw the worst of him first, I suppose…." She sighed and turned to go, pausing before she left. "I'm certain he can't be all that terrible. After all: how horrid can an opera ghost truly be?"

* * *

He approached the stones, seeing a small speck of color before one. He knelt down and picked it up, seeing the parchment attached to the flower.

He sat down and undid the strings, unfolding the parchment in order to read.

 _You once told me a story, and now it is my turn to tell you one._

 _There was a demon who looked out at the world through a crack in a window. He looked out of the crack and saw everyone-and hated himself because of it. Everywhere he went, he hated those around him because they reminded him of who he was._

 _He had been cursed. An evil monster had placed a curse on him so that he could only see himself as a demon-so that a demon was the only thing anyone else ever saw. Everywhere he looked, he saw himself-he saw what he couldn't be._

 _So he ran. He ran and he ran. He ran so far that he hid himself away. He hid himself so far away from the world. He tried to be what he couldn't be-to show the world what he could be-what they refused to see._

 _The world heard his music and saw his art. They claimed that a genius could craft the marvelous things he did-and they wanted to see who it was. He refused to let them see for fear of being rejected._

 _He turned to the only person who could see beyond his curse and refused to leave for fear of what they would say._

 _She went up to the people and told them of who he was. The monster who created the demon found her and took her. The monster placed her in chains and made her promise to never seek out the demon again, for if she did, they would both suffer…._

 _I didn't want to tell you this story, but I knew that you would come here and that you would find this. You deserve to know…._

 _I'm sorry, Erik. So very sorry._

 _But this is the end of our story._

 _Where she remains locked away, bound by chains to never see her demon again-to never tell him who he truly is beneath his curse._

 _He is a great man. I can promise you that. He is a great man and he is far from being a demon. So very far from being a demon. If only he were brave enough to show that to the world. So that they may love him as I have._

 _This is the goodbye that I never had a chance to say._

 _Goodbye, Erik._

 _May you stay safe from the monster that cursed you._

* * *

She went to gather her things and change in the dressing room. Adellade paused, seeing the note sticking out of the corner of her mirror. She reached up and grabbed it, quickly stashing it in her dress before going out to join Madeline in the carriage.

They reached the flat and she went up into her room, closing the door behind her to read the note, something telling her who it was from….

 _Know that wherever you may be, wherever you may think me: I am always there. I am always watching you, always protecting you, always keeping you safe._

 _You were wrong. This is not the end of the story._

 _That I can promise you._

 _Whatever it takes: this is not the end._


	11. Chapter 11

She sat in the audience, watching as Christine gave her performance. She turned, eyeing the boxes, seeing that box five was empty….

"Pay attention!" Madeline hissed.

"Yes, mother," she whispered, returning to watch.

The curtain fell at the end of the act as everyone got up to stretch their legs and discuss the first act's events. Adellade excused herself to walk about for a bit.

As she left the box, Madame Giry approached her.

"My dear: I do hope you are enjoying yourself." She sighed and looked her over. "Though I have yet to see a smile on your face since you found your mother…."

She gave a small smile. "Do give my best to Meg, won't you?"

"Of course. I was also asked to give you this." She held out a note toward her. "By a man who knows a bit too much about the opera ghost's affairs. You're not the only one who knows about him, Adellade." Madame Giry turned to go and paused. "I would be careful about the one who asked me to pass this on to you. He spends far too much time around Sorelli's dormitory."

"I will." She nodded and opened it, rolling her eyes at the fact that Nadir of all people would be the one asked to pass this along to her.

 _Are you enjoying the opera, my dear? Mademoiselle Daae is most certainly doing her work very well. I am glad that she decided to perform._

 _I only send you this note before I take my leave. If you wish: you may pass your reply along to the messenger. I'm certain he'll be able to find me._

 _I would write more, but the second act is to come soon enough. I believe there is to be a bit of magic involved-a vanishing act, if you can believe such a thing!_

 _Until I can have the pleasure of seeing you grace the opera house once again._

 _-M. Matthews_

"Who is this man?" Madeline demanded, snatching the note from her as she returned to her seat. "To leave a note such as this! He must be the arrogant type! I do hope he has enough money to afford such a thing! And to so clearly state that he intends to court my own daughter? The nerve alone!"

"I suppose we'll have to wait and see." She sighed and took the note back.

"And do you know this man? Have you met him before? This Monsieur Matthews?"

"I believe I have seen him around the opera house a few times. I think he's something of a composer."

"A composer! And he dares to court my own daughter? Why, you deserve only the best of suitors! How can he expect me to even think about letting my daughter run away to be a composer's wife!"

"I'm certain it'll all work out in the end, mother," she attempted. "Look! The second act is about to begin!"

The curtain rose to much applause as the opera continued. She watched, wondering what Erik was planning. _Vanishing act?_ What could he mean by such a thing?

The opera continued without any sign of his interference as Christine took the stage for her final aria. She sang with the beauty and grace of a sopranist-a voice that still knew his teachings despite Christine's fears.

She reached the last note of the aria and everyone gasped as the lights suddenly went off, casting everything in darkness. The lights returned, only with Christine no longer there. Adellade stood and picked up her skirts, leaving the box despite Madeline's shrieks to have her return.

"Nadir!" she shouted out, running toward the dressing rooms. "Nadir!"

"Adellade!" he called out, meeting her, grabbing her shoulders. "You know whose trick this is! He's taken Christine!"

"I know," she reassured. "This way. We can get to the lair through the tunnel. There should be one around box five…."

"And what do you think you're doing?" Madeline demanded. "And who is this?"

"Forgive me, madame." Nadir took a step forward and bowed. "I am Nadir. Former chief of the police in Persia. I came to the opera hoping to see a stunning performance, though it would seem that my work is here for me." He motioned for her to leave. "Might I ask a few questions of you? Certainly someone as esteemed as yourself should be able to help an investigation as to what happened to Mademoiselle Daae…."

Adellade made her way to the box, finding the column, running her fingers along the detailing. She smiled to herself, feeling the switch that activated the door leading to the tunnels. She stepped inside and hid herself amongst the shadows, watching as Nadir entered the box as well.

"This way!" she called out, waving him over.

He nodded and squeezed past her as she closed the door behind them. "Remind me again how the two of you are related?" he muttered. "I can see a bit of Erik's arrogance, but you?"

"We just need to find Erik and get Christine back," she insisted. "Hopefully he hasn't frightened her too much…."

"You don't think he would try to harm her? We are talking about the _former_ Shah's assassin!"

"He wouldn't." She shook her head and sighed. "I think-I think he might love her."

"Erik? Love? Forgive me: but I can't see him loving another woman! In the romantic sense, I mean," he quickly added. "I could see that he loves and cares for you, Adellade, but you are his family. Given your mother's temper, I can see why he wants to protect you if _that_ is any small indication as to what his childhood was like."

"I don't think it was ever happy," she whispered. "He always seemed sad and upset-as if he didn't want to bring up those memories…."

"Adellade…."

She gasped, her foot falling out from underneath her. She fell, sliding downward, being dropped out into a circular chamber. Nadir grunted as he landed next to her.

"Are you alright?" he called out. "Adellade?"

"Nadir." She grabbed at his arm. "Nadir. Look at where we are."

He stood, examining the mirrors, all reflecting their images back at them. The tree stood out most of all, standing there in the very center, the iron twisted into a trunk, the red noose hanging from its branches…. She stared in horror at the place, memories beginning to flood her mind as the floor grew warm to the touch.

"Curious," he muttered, running his hands along the trunk. "Only Erik could fasten something like iron into such a tree."

"Careful!" she warned, yanking his hand away. "Don't touch that!"

"It's only a tree!" he laughed. "The real problem is how we will get out of here…."

"Just don't touch that!" she warned. "Whatever you do: don't touch that!"

"What is it?"

"We-we have to get out of here," she whispered. "There has to be a way out of here!" She stared up at where they had come through, seeing it was too high for them to reach and the mirrors too smooth for them to climb.

"Calm down," Nadir reassured. "The best thing we can do is to not lose our heads."

She sat on the floor, tugging at the laces to remove the heavy fabric she wore, casting it aside for the lighter dress underneath.

"There ought to be a door," Nadir muttered to himself. "A door of some sort-a way for Erik to have gotten in and out when he was constructing this place…. It is rather intriguing, wouldn't you agree, Adellade? Rather intriguing indeed…."

"We have to get out of here!" she insisted. "Soon, Nadir! As soon as possible!"

"I know you're worried, but we'll find Christine, and-"

"Just get us out of here," she begged. "Please."

He nodded. "Alright. Alright. If I can just find the switch to reveal the door…."

* * *

He frowned, pacing around the sitting room. Christine sat on the couch, terrified of him as he paced. He spared a passing glance at her, yet she was only a distraction-a mere thing meant to send the opera house into a panic….

She knew the way. She knew the way, so why wasn't she here? Was she being held up? Had some step in his plan gone wrong? She knew the way. She knew the way to the lair. She knew the way….


	12. Chapter 12

She was staring up at the sun, watching as a shadow passed over her. Was it the Shah? Had he come to punish her again?

He knelt down and Nadir's face came into view as her surroundings melted away into the chamber around her.

"Adellade? Adellade? Can you hear me?"

"Hm?"

"Here. Can you sit up? Slowly now, slowly. That's it."

"Nadir? What-what are you doing here?"

"We fell in together, remember? Can you move? I know the heat is starting to get bad, but I need you to move-to stay awake for me. Can you do that? Here. Turn your back. Easy now, slowly. I'm not going to do anything-just going to see if I can loosen these-try to cool you off some."

"I don't remember falling in," she murmured. "Did he put you in here too?"

"We fell in, Adellade," he reminded.

"The Shah? Did he put you in here too? To punish Erik again?"

"No. We fell in. We were searching for a way to get to Erik, remember? You're not in Persia, Adellade. You're not in Mazenderan. You're in Paris. Below the opera house. Try to remember."

* * *

Erik paused, hearing a bell go off. He turned toward the entrance of the lair, closing the door behind him, peering out into the water, seeing no sign of a boat-no sign of her making her way along the wall…. He eyed the water, hoping that she hadn't fallen in.

 _If she wasn't here, then why did that bell sound?_ He wondered. His chest tightened as he hurried off, already knowing the answer. _Curse the Daroga for having led her into a trap! If she's harmed because of him, then Erik will ensure that he never sees the light of day again!_

* * *

Nadir lightly tapped the side of her face, leaning over her. "Adellade? Adellade? Can you hear me?"

He held his fingers against her neck and then pressed an ear against her chest, just barely hearing the sound of a heartbeat.

"Adellade! Come on! Wake up! Wake up!"

Her eyes slowly blinked open as she looked at him and grinned, laughing. "Why do you look so worried, Nadir? I was only sleeping! The Shah will come for us when Erik's finished! You'll see! It won't take too much longer!"

"If you say so," he growled, crawling over to continue his search.

The heat was beginning to take its toll on him, the energy being drained from his legs so that he could not stand for long periods of time. He thanked his mother and father for giving him Persian blood-blood that could withstand the immense heat of the unforgiving sun.

Adellade though…. She was hardly able to move with what little energy she had, constantly falling in and out of consciousness…. Her mind had fallen victim to the heat, placing her in the delusion that she was in Persia once again, having fallen prey to the Shah's cruel hand. He had to get them both out of here-had to find a cool spot to take her to so that Erik just might have a chance of seeing her alive once more even if her mind couldn't remember him….

* * *

He came upon the wall, recalling what was beyond. Erik ran to the door, prying it open with his hands, thrusting up an arm to shield himself from the heat that rolled over him, escaping into the cool air.

"Erik!" Nadir called out.

He walked inside, stopping in shock as he saw Adellade lying on the floor with the Daroga kneeling over her.

"She just lost consciousness again," he explained. "I've been trying to wake her, but-"

"Move!" he barked, going to pick her up in his arms. "Follow the river back to the lake and to the far shore. Knock twice on the wall."

"Careful with her!" he warned. "I-I don't know about what sort of state she's in-she's been talking nonstop as if she believes herself to be in Persia once more…."

"Twice, Daroga!" he called out over his shoulder. "And be grateful that I am willing to spare your life."

He carried her back, walking slowly so as to allow for the cool air to relieve her of the heat. She believed herself to be at the Shah's mercy once again…. To be a thing for him to use as Erik's punishment….

He stepped into the water once the current was no longer a danger and lowered her into the water, keeping her supported with one arm as he worked to cool her off with the other.

He should've suspected that the Shah had made use of his torture chamber the first time…. Ah, but he had been too concerned about her-about how close she had been to dying. He lowered himself onto the stones, sitting so that the water only came up to his waist, yet kept her afloat. The water should cool her down the fastest-should help restore her….

"Any progress?" Nadir asked.

"Very little," he muttered without turning around. "You are back on your feet?"

"I am more adapted to the heat than she is," he pointed out. "Can I do something to help?"

"Christine is in the lair. She will be needing company, I would presume. There is a switch to open the door. You'll find it along the wall. There's also a jar of labelled herbs that should help with the dizziness you're trying to hide."

He turned his attention back to her as the door opened. He stared at her, feeling the heat left in her skin, the way the water he swirled around her gave the illusion that she was still moving….

He sighed and stared out at the darkness around them, opening his mouth to sing her lullaby.

 _He woke, aware of her clutching his shirt, her body curled around his side. He could feel the wetness from her tears through the fabric as he looked at her._

 _"Another nightmare?"_

 _She nodded. "I can't sleep. Not after that. I'm too scared."_

 _"Shall Erik sing you to sleep?"_

 _"I'm too scared. I can't sleep. I won't sleep."_

 _"You can sleep, Adellade. No one will harm you now. Erik is here. Erik is always here during the nights."_

 _"I'm too scared."_

 _"The darkness is not so bad. Your mind can be free to wander in the darkness. Free to fly away on a dream to whatever land you choose." He wrapped his arms around her and gently stroked her hair as he sang. "Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation. Darkness stirs and wakes imagination…."_

"That was lovely."

He turned, seeing her standing in the doorway. "Christine."

"I've never heard it before. Where did you learn such a thing?"

"It's an old song." His grip around her tightened almost reflexively. "One I composed a very long time ago."

"Nadir-he told me-told me what happened." She sighed and wrapped her arms around herself. "Is she going to be alright? Adellade? Is she going to be alright?"

"The water helps." He sighed. "She-the heat took its toll on her-both her mind and her body."

"You're worried about her? I-I didn't think you would be."

"Very much so." He gently stroked the side of her face. "Erik is very much concerned for the poor little angel who fell into the demon's hand…. And he hurt her…. He hurt her so much."

"Adellade mentioned something like that. She said her brother had told her stories about a demon. But that's impossible, given that he's dead-that she imagined the entire thing."

He sighed. "Erik Destler, correct?"

"Yes. How did you-?"

He plucked out the letter from his shirt pocket and held it out for her to take. "It is not her fault for concealing the truth, Christine. It's better this way…. Better that she not recall the monsters that dare to haunt her past…. For both our sakes…."

* * *

 **DoctorPhantom: Honestly though: what other song would I have chosen?**


	13. Chapter 13

She sat on the couch, turning the letter over in her hands. The writing was unmistakably hers, yet for Adellade-for her own friend to conceal the truth of her family! To pretend that the opera ghost was simply an opera ghost and nothing more!

"Any progress?" Nadir asked. "What is that you have there?"

"A letter Adellade wrote to him." She sighed. "How could she never tell me!"

"To be fair: everyone is entitled to their secrets." He sat down beside her. "And you might as well have noticed that Erik is a very private man-very few of his affairs are ever made known-his past even less so."

"How long have you known?"

"For a long time. But to be honest: I have known them for a long time as well. My first encounter was when Erik was hired as a worker to help construct a new palace for the Shah of Persia. Then a few of his designs fell into well-placed hands, and he was taken on to be an architect. Eventually, he rose to be a magician, composer, and even assassin…. The last one I won't go into too much detail.

"It was after he became a favorite of the Shah did Adellade come to Persia searching for her brother. She found him, and together the two endured so much."

"What do you mean?"

"Have you ever seen a slip of her sleeve? Just enough to see a hint of a scar along her arm? Or perhaps a bit of flesh that seemed as if it were burnt?"

"A few times, but I only assumed it was a trick of the light."

"I can assure you it was no trick." He sighed, his gaze drifting to where Erik still sat. "The Shah would hurt her, as others have before him. He would hurt her until Erik had no choice but to comply with any order he was given. It was the only way to stop the Shah. The days I would see him wandering about, protectively standing over her as if she was to be taken from him the second his eyes left her. Even now he's out there, hopelessly waiting and praying that she will wake…. Mazenderan-the area of Persia where they stayed while the palace was being constructed-was the darkest of times for them. I've no idea how many times Erik had almost lost her-had blamed himself for not being quick enough-had almost collapsed from exhaustion because he had worked day and night to save her….

"So you can see, Christine, why Adellade would wish to keep such a thing hidden-why Erik would insist that she did. He wants to keep her safe-to keep their relation secret so that no one could ever use it against them. Yet Madeline Destler has, hasn't she?"

"Adellade said she chained her up."

"Given Erik's rantings about the woman, I would be able to believe that. He detested his mother-hated her to the point where he refused to acknowledge that she was ever his mother. According to him: she's the woman who gave birth to him and nothing more."

"What did she do to him to make him hate her so?"

"Simple: she locked me in an attic and refused to see me without my mask."

They turned, Christine standing as Erik made his way to one of the rooms, Adellade still in his arms. Nadir put a hand on Christine's shoulder as they waited for him to return.

"Well?"

"She still has some way to go," he explained, returning to retrieve some herbs. "However, she has cooled enough so as to not be in any immediate danger. This should help…."

"You said your own mother locked you away in an attic?" Christine asked. "Why?"

"You have seen what lies beneath this mask. The face that was so horrid that no one should ever know whose child it was. The very face kept locked away because tossing it out would be more shameful than anything! And you wonder why she fabricated the lie that poor infant Erik had died a week after his birth! Better to have died than to bring shame upon the Destler name."

* * *

Her eyes slowly opened, seeing something come into focus…. She tried to move, tried to get away, only to find her limbs unresponsive.

"Easy now," Erik soothed, reaching to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "Easy. No need to be afraid. You're safe here."

"Nadir-he-he was-the Shah-he-"

"Hush. No need for that." Some dark look fell over his face too quickly for her to be certain. "You and the Daroga both fell into the torture chamber Erik has here as one of his traps. Your mind had become confused due to the heat."

"Erik…."

"You need to rest. You're still weak. Still recovering. The Daroga suffered much less than you did. Perhaps I shall send him in once you're stronger, should you behave. Here. Drink this. It will help with the dizziness."

"Christine…."

"She is here as well. The Daroga seems to be capable of keeping her decent company despite his reputation." He stood and gently kissed her forehead. "No need to worry. Sleep now. Recover your strength. You're safe here, Adellade. Erik is here. You're safe."

Her eyes grew heavy as he left, closing the door behind him.

* * *

"I'm glad you're alright," Christine pointed out as she sat on her bed.

Adellade smiled. It had taken some begging and insisting before Erik had permitted her to have visitors despite her arguments that she was perfectly fine. Naturally, she had wanted to see her friend first-more so to reassure herself that Christine wasn't too harmed by everything that had occurred.

It had come as a shock, though, when she heard from Christine that she had learned of Adellade's relation to Erik, and thus had spent several hours questioning Nadir on the subject. She had attempted to know more from Erik, though he denied ever bothering to care about the matter.

"You could've told me," she pointed out, resting her hand on Adellade's. "We're friends, and-"

"I know." She sighed. "I didn't know how to tell you. Or how to tell anyone else for that matter. It's always been myself and him for as long as I can remember. Honestly: I can hardly remember what my life was like before I met him."

"He's your brother. Shouldn't you have known him your entire life?"

"Honestly? No. Madeline-mother-she kept him locked away in the attic. He wasn't allowed to come out, and as a result, I never knew he existed until I met him one night by accident. For the longest time after that: I thought he was something I dreamed up. It wasn't until she forced me to see who he was-what was behind his mask-did I learn the truth."

"Weren't you frightened?"

"I'm not certain I ever was. Madeline-she was much worse. I never dared to speak against her or go against her wishes. There were a few hours in the day I had to myself, and those I spent with Erik up in the attic. He would teach me how to read the books she kept up there. Oh, there were times I denied that he could ever look the way he did-but then I stopped denying…. I suppose to me: he's always been another face. Nothing more than another face belonging to another man, Christine. Nothing more."

"It still frightens me to be down here. How can you stand it?"

"I've slept in tents, in barns, in an inn, and even in a palace. If I could survive to wake another day there, what's the difference in sleeping here?"

"I look at him sometimes-and I wonder if he ever intends to let me go-if I'll ever see anyone else ever again…."

"Give him time. People have a bad habit of doing unimaginable things to him once they know who he is. Give him time, Christine, and you'll see. He won't hurt you. Oh, he may be upset at times and very, very stubborn, but I doubt he would ever truly hurt you."

"He hurt all those other people. How can you stand to be here when you know that he's hurt other people?"

"Because I trust him. Because I've seen him do horrible things-I've seen him do such horrible things, and I've seen what they do to him. I've seen how he looks when he thinks no one is watching."

"Still…. I can't imagine that the same person who hurt those people-the same person who looks like that-is your brother of all people! That he actually might care about you…. The concern he showed-the hours he refused to leave your side…."

"I told you: Erik's a good person. You'll see eventually. Just give him time. He's been hurt so many times before. So many times before…."

"Like you have?" Christine covered her mouth with her hand. "Forgive me. Nadir mentioned it before, and…."

"It's alright. Nadir is a good friend-even if Erik refuses to admit such a thing."

"He mentioned that they would hurt you?"

She nodded, rolling up her sleeve so Christine could see. "They would take me out and hold me down so that I couldn't escape. Erik would be forced to watch as they would cut me, and the only thing that could stop it was for him to obey. He has killed before, Christine. He has killed before, but only because it was the only way…. The first time, the Shah had locked me away in a chamber similar to the one Nadir and I fell into. He had only returned me to Erik once he had finished. He hated it so much. He only continued because if he didn't, then they would force him to watch me get hurt."

"I'm so sorry, Adellade. For you to go through something like that…."

"It wasn't too horrible. The nights were the best. Erik was always there during the nights. As long as he was there, I knew I would be safe-that he would keep me safe…."

* * *

He leaned against the doorframe, listening to their conversation, straining to hear for any sign of tiredness in Adellade's voice. She had always insisted that she was stronger than she was. The days he would beg her to stay in bed, to recover from the Shah's latest punishments, only to have her insist that she would be fine…. She thought him stubborn? The same girl who had travelled across Europe to find him in Persia because she didn't want to be left behind thought him stubborn?

Yet there was also the matter of Christine…. She wanted to leave this place. How would he know that she would return to him? That she wouldn't seek Madeline out or return with a mob at her back, intent on hunting him down? On hurting his poor Adellade the way others had before….

Erik sighed, sitting at the organ. He could feel the exhaustion that came to him from time to time in the days he would refuse to give in to sleep. Those days when he would worry that she could vanish from his grasp in an instant. She thought she had dreamed him up? He had thought the same of her so many times….

How many times in those lonely years in Persia had he dreamed of her? How many times had he cursed his mind for giving him dreams of seeing her once again, knowing very well the cruelty that she would be subjected to? How many times had he felt guilty at how relieved he was when she had finally found him once again? The angel who had saved the demon from himself…. Those days had come-days he had wanted to escape, to drink the stash of poison he had, only to foresee the pain it would inflict upon her-the grief she would experience….

Now here she was. Talking with Christine. Redeeming him in her eyes. He reached up to touch the mask…. He had imagined his life once if it wasn't for the mask…. Had imagined a life with a loving family, a happy wife-a life where he could walk about without a hint of rejection or recoil to be seen on the faces around him. He had spent his days in the attic, watching the men and women stroll by, imagining that one day a couple would come knocking on the door, asking about a deformed child they had lost so long ago…. That he would be loved without fear….

The one thing he had kept the same was her. Adellade. HIs precious Adellade. He chuckled to himself, smiling as he pictured her. She was always much younger-time placing her back in those days when she had been happy before the gypsies and the Shah had entered her life. Funny how he could always still see that little girl-that same little girl who had hid in the attic, sleeping next to him out of the childish fear of a storm.

* * *

She silently led Christine out of the lair and through one of the tunnels. She turned back every now and again to reassure her friend that they would be safe, that Erik wouldn't intentionally lead them into a trap. Even once they had emerged, Christine continued her fears about where he was insisting on taking them. Adellade did her best to calm her worries-despite not knowing of the location herself.

A carriage pulled up to receive them. Christine climbed in as Adellade eyed the driver, seeing the dark cloak and hat with the brim pulled down to hide the mask he wore.

"Not here," he whispered next to her ear.

She climbed inside and took her seat, staring at her own hands as he drove them. What reason could he have of wanting to move them without ever speaking the location? She trusted him that they were going to be alright, yet to not know where they were going….

She eyed the window, seeing the lights of the city pass them by as they headed for a darkened countryside. Christine herself was trying not to appear as frightened, yet she too continued to glance out every now and again in fear. To be whisked away from the stage into the lair of the opera ghost, to find that her own friend had kept the past buried, to now be riding in a carriage to an unknown location….

The sun began to rise as Erik pulled the carriage to a stop. He opened the door, helping the two of them out. She looked around at her surroundings, seeing the grassy field stretched out before her….

"This way." He led her on. "This is as close as the road will allow."

"So where are we going then?"

"A place that would seem to remain in my name." Erik sighed and she eyed him. "Garnier refused my denial, and after inspecting the place, I was unable to demolish it. Despite his annoyances, the man does know how to design a proper cottage. I've had no use for it though until now."

"We're not staying in the lair?"

"Dangerous to remain there. Madeline Destler remains frantic with the disappearance of her own daughter so soon after the vanishing of Mademoiselle Daae here. You can rest assured that I have had the Daroga handle that aspect so that it became nothing more than a simple case of fright and a wrongdoing with the lights."

"So why insist that she come with us then if no one will think to blame you?"

"I thought you might enjoy the company. I still have a few things to sort out in Paris. Things which you would rather not be involved in-and there are no arguments otherwise."

They came to the top of a hill, overlooking a small valley where a cottage sat nestled below them, hidden from the road leading toward a nearby village. Erik led them onward to the front door and opened it.

Adellade stepped inside, seeing the simplicity of the design itself. Everything had its purpose, and nothing was too extravagant. She could tell that Garnier had meant it to be a cottage for a man such as Erik to live out the rest of his days being able to enjoy opening up the windows without being seen by a villager. There was a kitchen and table, a sitting room with a small piano built in, along with two bedrooms, both identical in size and furniture. Everything had been planned according to Garnier's impression of working with Erik. She silently thanked him for building the cottage-and for Erik not being able to demolish it.

"I will return in a few days," he explained. "You are free to do whatever you please here. I only ask that you remain here. You may visit the village, take walks, but under no circumstances are you to return to Paris. Do you understand?"

She nodded. "Whatever you're planning: be careful."

"I promised to see you in a few days, didn't I? Erik would never dare to break a promise he had made his Adellade." He gently kissed her head. "Never. A few days, Adellade."


	14. Chapter 14

He returned to the city, walking the streets as he did. Erik sighed and looked around, seeing the people as they went about their business. He handed a coin off to a boy in exchange for a paper. He frowned, eyeing the stories, determined to find where Madeline Destler lived.

He started off down a street, coming to a stop before the flat. It was a small thing, the outward appearance being that of a faded place that had lost its glory. He knew these streets well enough to know that it was the perfect facade-someone with enough money to afford a home in the city, yet not enough to afford a home elsewhere.

Eventually night fell, and he hid in the shadows, watching as Madeline exited from her carriage, entering the home itself. He waited an hour after the carriage had departed to walk up and knock on the door.

"Yes?" Madeline answered. "What do you want?"

"I've come to offer my condolences about your daughter's disappearance." He entered, looking around at the small furnishings.

"Can't you leave a mother to grieve over the loss of her child?"

"I was wondering if I might offer my services to you? I happen to have a few reliable resources. I wouldn't ask for much in return, madame. Only that she be returned safely to your care."

"If you've any idea where she might've run off to, then do share!"

"Might I examine the flat?"

"Search the whole place! The police went through and they've come up with nothing! I don't see the harm in you looking as well. Just don't touch a thing-I'd hate for her to return and find some precious thing of hers missing."

"Of course." He walked upstairs and found her room.

He pushed the door open, eyeing the contents. They were simple-as simple as the rest of the flat was. He walked over to them, fully examining everything. He ran his fingers along the bed's frame, finding the hidden chain that kept her secured. There was hardly a doubt in his mind that she had endured nightmares-had attempted to jump out the window one time in her sleep…. He sighed, straightening to pull back the blankets, seeing the rumpled sheets as she had tossed and turned in the night. There were stains on the pillow…. _How many times must you cry yourself to sleep at night?_

He turned away and examined the wardrobe, seeing the stiff fabrics and heavy pieces she very much despised, preferring the lighter skirts to any others. He eyed the mirror, adjusting the brim of his hat as he did to keep the mask from being too obvious to the eye.

He went through the rest of the flat, only stopping at Madeline Destler's room. He would much rather prefer not to enter, yet he was curious to see what had become of her cursed mother over the years.

Erik frowned as he walked around the bed, his foot hitting the edge of something. He knelt down and examined the object, finding it to be a case. He opened it and eyed the contents, seeing the remains of a childhood before him.

He reached in, a hint of a faded fabric catching his eye. He held it up, tracing the body, the faded painted face, the brown curls, the pink dress just a bit too large…. He paused, standing as footsteps approached.

"Where did you find this?" he asked.

"It was an old thing I found up in the attic. I suppose she must've lost it up there a long time ago. That was before my husband and I moved to this flat-when I had thought that I had lost her. I might as well keep the memories of my daughter alive somehow.. A mother must do whatever she can to hold on to the memory…. Do you have children, monsieur?"

"Not truly." He shrugged.

"You'll learn that a mother must do whatever she can to keep the memory of her child alive."

"I see." He paused, another object catching his eye. "A curious little thing…. A mask small enough for a child?"

"She was such an inventive little thing. I had meant to be rid of it years ago…."

"Yet you wish to hold onto the memory?" he guessed, tossing it back in with the other things. "Pity."

"I'm certain your mother has many of your childhood things locked away someplace!"

"No. She clearly doesn't."

"You would dare to say something like that of your own mother?"

"Have you ever seen the gypsies perform, madame?"

"Why would you ask such a thing?"

"Have you? Because I can assure you that they are a sight. Travelling around the continent in their colorful garbs, showing all the things they've found on their travels…. The dancers themselves are a sight to behold. There was a pretty little thing there once. Ah, but the true masterpiece had been a _child_. The 'Devil's Child' they called him."

"I never bothered to see the gypsies. Better to stay away from something as uncultured as that!"

"How about Persia, then? Have you witnessed the Shah's courts? Seen one of his executions-ah, _entertainments_? Been enough of his favorite that he has presented you with the gift of a woman? Have you ever felt his cruel hand as he made his wish for your death very clear?"

"And why would I ever bother to see something like that? All the comfort I could ever need is right here in Paris!"

"I forgot. The opera house. The ballets. She was a part of those, wasn't she? Your daughter?"

"Yes. The leading ballet girl, in fact."

"I recall." He turned to leave, going down the stairs as he did so.

"And what do all of these questions have to do with my daughter?" Madeline demanded.

"One very important thing, Madeline Destler: how much do you truly know of Adellade?"

"How dare you accuse me of such a thing!" she shrieked.

"How dare _I_ accuse _you_?" He chuckled to himself and shook his head. "How dare I accuse you? Then tell me: how much do you truly know of your own daughter?"

"She-"

"Do you know what she prefers to do with her time? Do you know what stories she most enjoys reading? Or do you know that her habit is to make tea as soon as she returns? Do you know what type of dress she prefers-obviously you don't, given what I've seen of her wardrobe. Do you know why she walks in her sleep? Do you know what frightens her the most? Do you know why she refuses to go to bed some nights? Tell me what you know of your own daughter, Madeline."

"And just how could you know any of that?"

He strode forward, shoving her up against the wall. "Oh, I know much more than you could imagine. You asked me if I ever had children? Here's your answer: I don't have any by blood. However I consider myself the person responsible for my own sister. The very person I have been looking after since she was a mere _seven years old_. Why? Not because our parents died-oh, nothing of the sort. In fact: it was much worse than that. _It was because her mother sold her to the gypsies all because she refused to spend another second in the same home as her son who had no place in that house._ "

"How dare you-"

He pressed his arm up against her throat, forcing her to be silent. "No more of that. You listen to _me_ now. You want to know what I know about Adellade Destler? I know much more than you ever could. You might've raised her for seven years, yet I'm the one who knew her. Who do you think was the one who had to comfort her when she would sit through the nights wondering what kind of mother gave her own child to the gypsies for a sack of coins? Who do you think it was who watched her be hurt over and over again? Who do you think went on his knees like a dog begging for them to stop? Her own mother? _No. It was never you who helped her_."

"Erik," she choked out.

" _Madeline_." He released her and she fell to the floor, gasping and coughing for breath.

"I ought to be rid of you! Once and for all!"

"Then what would you do about your precious little daughter? Adellade is yours no longer, Madeline. That I can assure you. And if you ever consider coming near her again: it will be your death. Yours might as well be the one life I won't regret taking to ensure her safety." He took a step back, holding his arms out for her to see. "You want to be rid of Erik? Here I stand. The boy you cast away the moment he was born. The one they called the Devil's Child, the Shah's assassin, the opera ghost! You want to be rid of me, then do your worst! But know this: Adellade will never be yours again. Whatever threat you may hold against her, whatever rule you may scream at her to endure, she will never obey."

"You think I can't get my own daughter to listen to me?"

"I _know_ you can't get her to listen to you. She only ever complied with your wishes because you threatened to hurt me. Who do you think it will be she will cry over? You? The woman who sold her away to a miserable life when she should've remained? Or me? The one person who comforted her during her greatest fears?"

"You put so much faith into her! She'll cast you aside the moment she can! She already has, and she will again!"

"Care to put your word to the test?" he challenged.


	15. Chapter 15

They got out of the carriage and walked over to the door. Adellade opened it, hesitantly eyeing the furniture that had greeted her as a reminder of her imprisonment in that place. Erik and Madeline stood at opposite ends of the room. She walked over to him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

"I am pleased to see you as well," he murmured in reply. "Did you enjoy yourself?"

"It was nice. Christine and I went exploring in the village and we found this little music shop! Oh, you'll have to see it sometime! They have all of these different things in there!"

"Perhaps." He glanced over at Christine. "You do not fear Erik?"

"Less so," she answered. "Adellade's told me some of your stories."

"I do hope she has recreated them faithfully," he pointed out, wrapping his arms around her, holding her tightly. "But now we are faced with a choice," he whispered. "I fear it will not be a pleasant one-however you may choose."

"What choice?" She released him. "Erik, what choice?"

"Madeline and I seem to have come to a disagreement."

"On what?"

"There is a revolver on the table there. It's alright. Pick it up."

She walked over to the table, glancing over her shoulder at him. She took it, holding it in her hands.

"And now you have a choice to make." He sighed. "Myself or her."

She stared at the revolver in horror, realizing what he meant. "No. I won't! I can't!"

"It's your choice. Whatever you choose to do."

"And be grateful he got a chance to say his farewells!" Madeline snapped. "Now take it and be done already! No use in keeping him around!"

"I can't," she whispered. "I can't."

"Please," Christine added. "You don't have to make her do this."

"Stay where you are," he ordered. "There's no need for anyone else to be harmed."

"I can't do this!" she begged. "Please! Don't make me!"

"What? Do you actually care for him? Do you actually care for the monster he is?"

"I can't do this." She fell to her knees. "I can't do this."

"There has to be another way," Christine begged. "There must be another way!"

"It was Madeline's decision that things be this way," Erik explained. "Have her precious little daughter prove her loyalty-prove her hatred of what lies beneath this mask. Believe me: if there was any other way, it would've been done."

"You've seen him!" Madeline argued, turning to Christine. "You've seen how horrid of a person he is! Don't you agree that he should be done away with?"

"How could say something like that? Of your own son?"

"She was never my mother. Just as I was never her son. I learned that the day she locked me away in that attic."

"I can't do this. I just can't."

"I'm sorry. I am sorry that this must hurt you, but this is the one thing Erik cannot stop." He knelt down. "It's your choice how this ends. It's your choice as to how this pain ends."

"I can't do this!" She ran over to him, wrapping her arms around his neck, leaving the revolver on the floor. "I can't do this!"

"I know. I know." He wrapped his arms around her. "I know. It's alright. You didn't do anything. It's alright."

"So. This is her decision." Madeline regarded them both. "My own child. Daring to leave her mother alone? Alone with nothing in the world? Not a single soul to comfort me? What kind of a daughter have you become? What kind of a daughter has he twisted you into becoming? I knew it! I knew he would do something! I knew he would taint you! I knew if I allowed you a single moment with him, you would be tainted by his horridness! How dare you!"

She turned to look at her, shock written on her face. "Erik's been nothing but kind to me! He's my brother-my friend! How could you ever think those things of him?"

"Then I suppose it's up to me to end things, seeing as you won't. Trust me, my dear: you'll be much happier once this is over."

Her eyes widened, seeing what she was reaching for.

"No!"

Adellade ran toward her, knocking them both to the ground as Madeline's shot went wild.

"Why you insolent little-!"

She grunted as Madeline tossed her off of her, getting to her feet to search for where Erik had gone. He appeared behind her, twisting her arm behind her back.

"I should've been done with you the moment you were born!"

She gasped, seeing as Madeline held onto the revolver, turning it around to face Erik…. She went to the floor, picking up the one she had dropped, turning it over in her hands, taking aim.

"Erik! Watch out!"

Shots rang out, surrounding them in a blanket of explosions before everything finally silenced into nothing….


	16. Chapter 16

**Erik: Hello. On account of what happened previously, I have taken it upon myself to present you with this chapter in place of the author...**

 **DoctorPhantom: Erik. Give the laptop back. They can keep the chapter, but give the laptop back.**

 **Erik: You're not very good at making deals, are you?**

* * *

He grunted, getting to his feet, shaking his head to clear the ringing in his ears. "Adellade! Christine!" He walked over to the chairs, seeing her huddled there in an attempt to hide. "Here. Christine. It's alright. It's over."

He looked around, seeing Madeline lying on the floor. He walked over to her, kicking the revolver out of her hand. Erik knelt before her, seeing the way her eyes stared above her into nothing, the blooming of red staining her dress.

"Madeline's dead," he announced. "Adellade? It's alright. She's dead…." His voice trailed off, seeing her across the room from him, Christine already there to attempt to comfort her.

He walked over to them, kneeling before her. "Adellade. Adellade: look at me. Look at Erik. Just Erik." He gently tilted her head so she was looking at him. "See? Just Erik. Are you hurt? Does anything hurt? Adellade? Does anything hurt?"

She shook her head. He reached out and placed his hand over hers, gently taking the revolver from her, setting it aside.

"Here." He took the doll and handed it to her, wrapping her hands around it. "Remember this? Remember how you made this for Erik because you saw he had nothing to play with? Remember how we dressed her up to look like an angel? Remember how you went out to the garden each day to gather up things to build her a home? A place where she could sit and enjoy the sun?"

She nodded. He leaned over and gently wrapped his arms around her.

"Close your eyes. Can you do that? Can you close your eyes for Erik?"

She did and he picked her up, carrying her toward the door as Christine followed. He carried her to the Daroga's home and he answered Christine's knocking.

"Did you do something to her?" he demanded. "And what was that noise I heard? Have you any idea the amount of panic you've stirred up?"

"A bed, Daroga?"

"Through that door."

He carried her there, placing her down on the bed. Erik sighed and closed the door before going to sit on the bed in front of her. He removed the mask and set it before her.

"You may open your eyes now if you wish."

She did so and he sighed. She blinked and looked at him, then at the mask and doll.

"Erik is here for whatever you may require of him." He reached up to touch her face, gently wiping away a tear from the edge of her eye. "Whatever you require, however small it may seem." He wrapped her hands around the doll. "Hold onto her. Try to remember her. Remember those days in the attic when we would make up stories and play games. Do you remember those times?"

She nodded.

"Good." He smiled. "Very good. Remember those days, Adellade. Erik will be right back. I believe the Daroga is impatiently waiting for an explanation. Best to put this back on, hm?" He replaced the mask and stood, leaning down to kiss her. "Whatever you may need, Erik is here for you," he murmured into her hair.

* * *

"So what is going on?" Nadir demanded.

Erik sighed and grabbed him by the sleeve, dragging him outside.

"Release me!" he demanded, straightening out his coat. "I am not something for you to simply drag around, now am I?"

"I wasn't going to explain inside where she could overhear!"

"Since when have you ever cared about decency? The same man who designed a place for the Shah where no one could speak a word without being overheard! The same man who crept around his tunnels to listen into the affairs of the opera house!"

"It wasn't Christine I was concerned about, Daroga."

"Then why-?"

He turned to see her in the doorway. "You may stay or remain inside if you prefer. All I ask is that you leave Adellade to herself. That you not speak with her of what has occurred, do you understand?"

She nodded and turned to leave, closing the door behind her.

"I went to confront Madeline Destler," he began. "I found where she was living, and presented myself to her. Something made me curious about what type of life Adellade had been living underneath her roof. It was not a pleasant one, Daroga. She cried herself to sleep at nights, had to be chained so as to stop her from attempting to hurt herself because of a nightmare…." He sighed. "She said things about Erik's was upset with her-and rightfully so! So he challenged her to see whom Adellade cared for more."

"You know she would choose you over her own mother! Did you have to go and make a game out of it all?"

"Madeline was the one who chose how she was to decide. I knew she wouldn't be able to do it-wouldn't be able to take the revolver and kill her…. I had no say in the matter. She still refused. Things got out of hand. Madeline tried to kill Erik and Adellade-she…." He lowered his head. "Madeline Destler is dead, Daroga."

"You killed her? You killed Madeline in front of Adellade? In front of Christine? Are you mad? I thought we left all of this behind in Persia!"

"So what would you have me do?"

He opened his mouth to respond, stopping when he saw the way Erik stood. He looked more a man resigned to his fate than anything else. He had seen Erik after his kills in Persia-had seen what they had done to him. None of those had ever made him look like this, as if he knew he had come to the end of his life-that no amount of resistance could stop it. This wasn't the way Erik would hold himself after killing Madeline Destler. He would be proud of himself, would be glad that Adellade wouldn't have to suffer any more at her hand….

Adellade…. There was only one other time he had seen Erik look the way he did now…. The time Erik had watched over her after their escape-when he had cared for her, had worked to rid her of the poison…. The same look had been there as it was here. That resigned look, the clenched fist indicating the anger, the hatred, the self-loathing.

Erik hadn't explained away his reasoning for killing Madeline. Not the way he had done before in Persia. He hadn't tried to reason his way out-to make Nadir see his logic. He had accepted the accusation-welcomed it even. All because of one thing….

"It wasn't you, was it?"

"I doubt she even knew what she had done until it was too late." He swallowed. "I brought you out here so that she wouldn't have to hear it. So that she wouldn't have to hear what she had done. The first man I ever killed was a gypsy. The very first one. I had to slit his throat so that we could escape. The weeks I spent, wondering how she would see me now-the times when I could still see him fall, could still feel the blood on my hands…. I told myself I had no other choice-that I did what I had to do-until that became the only thing I could ever hear. I never did kill another until I stepped foot in Persia. Trust me: she doesn't need the reminder of what she's done. I got her out of there, took her away from that place. Tried to distract her with memories of a happier time…. She's hurting, Daroga. She's hurting and I don't know how to stop it. I don't know how to stop the pain she is in-how to banish the haunted look in her eyes! Tell me how to fix it, and I shall, whatever that may be. Simply tell me how to end this for her."

"Time. Time will help. You need to be gentle with her. She's delicate right now, and needs time to process it-to let her own mind work this out. The best you can do is be there for her. Comfort her when she needs comforting. That's all you can do for now."

 _He opened the door, hearing the whimpering sounds coming from within. Nadir sighed, seeing him sitting up against the wall, head in his hands, traces of scarlet still on his skin…. He was a man, yet his size made him look to be little more than a child._

 _"Leave me alone!" he called out. "Leave Erik alone! Erik has killed a man. Has killed a man and now his blood is on Erik's hands! See! See the blood! See the blood…."_

 _"I see you've made use of some drugs there," he muttered, eyeing the open box. "They won't help all that much."_

 _"Erik was upset. He was upset and reacted."_

 _"I can see that." He eased himself down next to him. "I can also see that you've never taken a life before."_

 _"Once, but that was different. Erik didn't have a choice then. He had a choice now."_

 _"It's in the past. You can't hope to change it. What you can do is continue on. That blood will wash out of your hands eventually. You'll see." He stood and paused before leaving. "Oh, and the Shah did ask to see you. I suspect you ought to pull yourself together before seeing him."_


	17. Chapter 17

Erik watched as she moved about, going from one window to the next. They had returned to the cottage for the time being. He kept himself busy with his compositions, but even then he found himself distracted. He was still worried about her-about the way she attempted to go back to doing what she had done before, only to stare blankly at the same page in a book for hours on end. She would eat, but most of the time she would pick at the food as if she was still considering something else. He was glad though that she didn't have too horrible nightmares-that she slept in her bed without trying to hurt herself.

Christine made a habit of coming to visit and the two of them would take walks together. He felt happy for some reason that they could still get along after everything. There were even days when Christine would stay for longer periods of time, not wanting to leave Adellade alone. Some days she brought Meg and Madame Giry with her and all four of them would go for a picnic or shop around the village.

He didn't think they ever dared to discuss what had happened. Not after the time Nadir made one of his visits and accidentally said something which Adellade overhead. She had only sat there, distancing herself from the remainder of the conversation-despite the fact that he had begun to ramble on about trivial matters.

Erik sighed, attempting to do his best to keep to the Daroga's advice to give her time. Several months had passed and he could hardly get a word out of her. That haunted look in her eye had faded, yet it was still there. There were still traces of it there, just beyond the surface.

"She _is_ still healing some," Christine pointed out when he had confessed his concerns to her one day. "It wasn't ever an easy thing-what happened. Didn't it ever take her time to heal after Persia?"

He slowly nodded. "It was easier. The poison itself helped distract her. The nightmares remained however. They still do sometimes…. She'll dream about that place. Every now and again she'll whisper something in Persian, forgetting where she is in the night."

"And now?"

"Now it's as if all life has drained from her. I have been able to whisk away her troubles before, but this? This I've no idea where to begin. I've never known where to begin…."

"Why don't we all take a stroll together?" Christine suggested. "She does love walking around, looking at a new place…. A change of scenery might be good for her."

"There are many places to travel." He blinked, an idea forming in his mind. "And I think I might know the place to go to."

* * *

"What made you think of a beach?" she asked as they walked.

"We used to travel to the beach every now and again during our time in England. Mother would close up the inn and take us both down there to see the ocean, watch the boats dock on the piers."

"I thought that-"

"We spent a few years at an inn. The woman who owned it-her name was Rosina Matthews. She was the closest thing I ever had to a mother. Adellade enjoyed it, I believe. She spent her time around the inn, serving drinks and helping out however she could."

"What happened to her?"

"She died. I was in Persia when it happened. According to Adellade, some thieves came and killed her."

"Oh."

"Adellade. She left and found her way to Persia-to me."

They stopped, watching as she walked by the water, carrying her shoes in her hand, dancing along by the edge of the waves, the hem of her skirt wet from the ocean.

"She looks happy," Christine pointed out.

"Living a life of being told what to do and how to act from the moment she was born…. Being able to do whatever she pleases was always a treasured rarity."

"Why do you look at her as if she's still a child?"

"Because in some ways: she is. She always has been."

She sat in the sand and giggled to herself, smiling as the waves lapped up around her.

"She never had a normal childhood, Christine. She never did get to fully enjoy the love and devotion a parent should bestow upon the child. Almost everything was decided for her-and when she did leave, things only got worse. She grew up amongst gypsies, being little more than a dancer for their own entertainment. She had to learn how to fend for herself-how to recognize the signs of danger.

"Even so, I can still see her as a small child. The very first person I had ever known to show me kindness-to not be afraid of what I was. How can I ever think to let that go?"

"Well, I think you might have to reconsider." She nodded toward a young man as he approached Adellade. "Have you ever considered marriage?"

"Now you sound like mother did," he muttered. "Always did ask me about that subject whenever she had the chance…."

"You didn't answer the question."

"For the longest time, it had always been myself and her. I suppose I never did consider the thought. I had to protect her. Mother attempted, but none of the other women were ever appealing to me. Even the Shah attempted such a thing…. That did not end well. But you, Christine, must have had other suitors? The Vicomte de Chagny?"

"Raoul? He's an old friend. Hardly more than that. We were engaged for a bit, but I broke it off. He was still a friend, and that's all he ever could be, I learned."

"I see." He eyed the man as he left, leaving Adellade to herself once more. "I've considered taking her elsewhere. Perhaps back to England or even America for a bit. A change of scenery."

"Oh? How long will you be gone?"

"I never know."

"When will you be leaving?"

"Soon, if she finds it agreeable. Get us both away from all of this. She was a woman with quite a bit of influence-news of her death never does quite vanish."

"I see."

"Perhaps you could join us?" he prompted. "I'm quite certain that Adellade would be very unhappy should she have to leave you behind."

"Only Adellade?"

"I suppose I would be as well," he admitted, "seeing as I've grown accustomed to your company over these past few months."

* * *

She lay in the sand, listening to the waves as they tickled her toes. Erik and Christine's voices floated over to her on the breeze and she sighed. It would be nice to travel…. Though for him to extend an invitation to Christine….

She smiled to herself. Erik was odd-he always had been. She didn't think he truly wanted to dare to open himself up to any possibility of love. Then there was Christine-the way he would act when he talked about her singing, the way he seemed to be hurt after she had left, the way he had stared at the rose Raoul had given her as if it had been a painful reminder….

 _"I taught her because I saw potential. She had a voice that should not go unwasted. Who is to say what happened after?"_

Who indeed? It was odd, picturing him taking walks with a wife and possibly a child one day. He would be good as a father. He could tell them stories, play songs on the violin….

She frowned and slowly sat up, seeing the beach stretched out before her, continuing by the water's edge. The image of Madeline Destler came into her mind, her body falling toward the floor as the shots rang out….

Did she feel guilty? She should, yet somehow...she wasn't. Adellade supposed that was what her mind had been wrestling with for so long. She should feel guilty about taking another person's life, yet somehow she didn't. In fact: she felt happy about it-which frightened her. The knowledge that Madeline was dead brought her peace and happiness. They had mentioned it a few times, and she had wanted no more of it, feeling awful about how she reacted.

It was as if she was finally waking from a dream...a dream that had slowly descended into madness and chaos….

Yes, she was afraid to speak on the subject. Afraid that she would confess her happiness-that Erik would think her mad…..

But he had Christine. And he might not realize it himself, but he did have Christine-and Christine had him. If Erik ever did consider to marry, then she would have that to be happy about.

Who ever would know what happened after he had begun to teach her? Still, she was glad for her friend and Erik. They looked nice together. And Christine did love him. She had come back time after time after time again to visit. They had talked a bit about her, and Christine had suggested that he play some of his music for them, and he had complied….

"Adellade!" Christine called out, motioning for her to join them. "It's getting late."

She stood and grabbed her shoes, walking over. Erik eyed her and sighed, reaching out to brush some sand off of her nose.

"Did you enjoy yourself?" he asked.

She nodded and smiled.

"Ah, now that is the one thing I have been missing."


	18. Chapter 18

Adellade looked around at everything, seeing that it had all been packed up, the furniture covered with heavy cloth. They would be leaving soon, and he had stored everything away, intent on taking on the essential items with them until they knew how long they would be gone.

A throat cleared and she turned, seeing Nadir standing there. "Am I interrupting something?"

She shook her head. "Not at all."

"It is good to hear you speaking again." He looked around. "I had come to offer my congratulations, but…."

"He had a few more things to see to. I don't think he even wants to think about it."

"If the number of times he's been at my house has been an indication, then I think we can both assume he would rather not."

"Who would rather not do what?" Christine called out, leaving the room to join them. "Nadir! It's good to see you."

"And you as well, _Madame Destler_." He kissed her hand.

"I haven't married yet!"

"With Erik? The idea is enough of a commitment."

"He has a point." She sighed. "How many times has he moved the date?"

"Twice."

"He loves yet refuses to settle down to anything at all!" Nadir turned to Adellade and hugged her. "Do care to write."

"I will. As long as you leave out the details of your reputation in your responses."

"I've half an idea that Sorelli has kept me from my reputation. Perhaps I shall make an attempt to visit you soon? Or would Erik run off at the very idea."

"I'll be certain to tell him that you're only visiting and not checking up on him."

"And if you ever need any advice, I am always willing to help," he added, turning to Christine. "Whatever problem you might run into regarding him."

"I'll let her know to keep you informed." She hugged him as well. "Goodbye, Nadir."

"And good luck to you." He turned to leave. "Do give my farewells to Erik, would you, Adellade? Oh-and this." He took the locket out and placed it in Adellade's hands. "I thought you might miss this when you leave. Found it in the opera house."

"Thank you."

"And consider this an eventual wedding present," he added, handing something to Christine. "I found these as well."

She unfolded the parchment to reveal some music sheets. "Nadir, I-"

"You might want to take a look at the composer. I've found him to be a collector of several works over the years. I thought these particular ones might interest you."

"My father's?" she whispered. "Thank you. Truly, thank you."

"I thought you might wish to be reunited with those." He sighed. "I shall take my leave then, I suppose. And if you ever need anything at all, I am only a letter away."

He left them alone. Adellade fastened the locket around her neck, sighing as she felt the familiarity in it. Christine continued to read over her father's music, humming parts of it to herself.

She watched as a carriage pulled up. "He's here. Shall we?"

"We shall." Christine linked her arm through hers as they walked out together, the door closing behind them.

Adellade climbed into the carriage, watching as they drove away from the cottage. They were off to a new life-a life she could be happy about.

A life without fear, without monsters.

A life where a demon could finally be a man named Erik Destler.

* * *

 **DoctorPhantom: And we have officially reached the end of this story! Woohoo! Thank you for all of your reviews and reactions and all that stuff! Again: sorry for the emotions this has given... But hey, I left you guys on a good (better) ending, so that should make up for something, right? Anyways: thanks for reading! Bye! :)**


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